#in any case it was not uncommon to see people add replies to their own forum threads that read 'bring up my post'

[an-aura-about-you]

you ever see a post where a person says a thing, another person says, "That's definitely not true," regarding the first post, and you actually DO remember the thing being true but it's such an inconsequential, niche thing that you know it's not worth it to make it an addition on that post?

[automaticneon]

Clouds

Chapter 1: Automatic Love (NSFT)

Baron Helmut Zemo x Reader

Summary: “When desires go unfulfilled, they turn into needs”

Clouds is the most technologically advanced dollhouse in Madripoor. It’s a void for people to escape into, or at least the lucky few that can afford to visit. 

And Zemo is very lucky.

The reader meets a strange new client, a man of mystery and poetic language and when she uncovers a secret most valuable to Helmut Zemo, their relationship goes from professional to something much more profound.

A/N: It’s essentially a Cyberpunk AU, but you don’t need to know a thing about the game! I’ve just borrowed the names of locations and the concept of Clouds. The reader is essentially a high clas s*x worker, if that isn’t your cup of tea, this probably isn’t the fic for you!

If this was high-end, there was no way to tell.

At least that’s what Zemo thinks as his car pulls up outside the mega-building. It’s an unsightly structure but not uncommon for this area of Madripoor, about fifty-storey’s tall and covered in vibrant LED screens.

For a minute he considers instructing his driver to take him back to his apartment in high-town so he can pretend this never happened. He had been averse to this idea already, but a friend from his military days had been convinced he should try coming here. “It’s cutting-edge” is what he had been told, but what exactly cutting-edge meant was a mystery to Zemo.

“Would you like me to wait for you, Sir?” the driver asks, snapping Zemo out of his thoughts.

The baron swipes his hand over his face, taking one last look at the building outside the window before responding.

“No, I’ll call when I’m done.”

He reckons his driver knows what he’s doing here. Mega-building H8 was known for only one thing, its position on the layline between high and low town meant it was frequented by all wealthy inhabitants of Madripoor. Mobsters and politicians alike congregated at this monster of architecture, hopeful of its contents and desperate to go unrecognised.

And now they can add a Baron to that list of unfortunates, Zemo thinks with resignation.

He leaves the car before the embarrassment can fester in his chest.

 The building is worse up close than at a distance.

Climbing the flight of concrete stairs Zemo is transported from the sidewalk and into the belly of the beast. The entrance to the megabuilding is a low-ceilinged sprawl of street-vendors and food stalls. It’s loud and busy, but Zemo has no problem blending into the crowd. He weaves through the stream of people, illuminated by neon signs that grow increasingly vulgar in their images the deeper into the building he moves.

Eventually, towards the back of the building, he finds the metal gates of an industrial-style elevator. He slides the grate open and steps inside to find the space is lit by multiple illuminated advertisement screens rotating through various commercials, each more obscene than the last. For a moment Zemo takes the moral high ground, musing with distaste about the sort of men these adverts are geared towards. He takes the moral high ground until he remembers what he has come here to do. Defeatedly he admits to himself he has no right to feel lofty.

The illuminated keypad flashes at him, and he reaches out to input his destination.

 Floor 12 – CLOUDS

 The elevator is slow as it climbs past the levels of cheap apartments and eventually comes to stop at level 12. As Zemo goes to open the grate again, he wonders if he’ll be greeted by some of that high-class sophistication he was promised.

He is not.

This floor is much like the entrance hall, only this time it’s a balcony that wraps around the interior of the mega-building and faces down into an open-air atrium. Zemo notices that the elevator he steps out of does not go any higher than this level, the floors above must be the luxury apartments and must have their own entrance.  He begins to follow the neon signs again.

“I don’t get why you’re so hung up about this?” A man near him says to his friend. Zemo bristles at the strong American accent, but carefully allows himself to eavesdrop.

“I don’t know, man,” The friend responds “It just feels wrong, you know? Like I’ll be cheating on my girl with one of these dolls”

“But that’s just it! These girls are dolls, man. They’re not real. It’s like sleeping with a blow-up-doll. No difference”

“You know that’s not true; the difference is they’re real. They’re made of flesh.”

“That’s what makes them great though. They’re dolls made of flesh.”

Zemo moves on before he can hear anymore.

He follows the signs until he reaches a wide hallway into the building, and there at the end is the rather simple looking entrance to Clouds dollhouse. The low ceiling of the hallway allows for little decoration, but he supposes a place with such an infamous reputation needs little in terms of advertisement. Soft pink neon signs flash the name of the establishment, and beside the double glass doors a glitchy hologram of a woman dances away. As he approaches, a pre-recorded voice rings out from a speaker at the base of the hologram.

“Looks like you could use a little automatic love.”

He refuses to acknowledge the projection.

Inside clouds is arguably worse than outside. The hallway is lined with tattered posters and it smells of something cheap and artificial. When Zemo enters the small, empty reception the lady behind the desk looks up with a smile.

“Welcome to clouds, where we always know what you’re looking for.”

  -

 None of you can hear a thing from the changing room.

“Do you think he’ll fire her?”

“I’m not sure. Depends how angry the client was,”

“Shut up I’m trying to hear,”

The room falls silent as Divine presses her ear to the door.

Moments ago the dressing room had been full of the usual chatter as you and the other dolls prepared for the evening shift. There was nothing to indicate the night would be anything but normal, that was until a few minutes ago when Woodman, the caretaker of dolls, had knocked furiously at the door and demanded that Azure come to his office down the hall for an immediate meeting.

“Is it just Woodman?” you ask. Azure could be abrasive at times, but she was certainly one of you favourite colleagues and you desperately wanted her to avoid being fired by management.

“I think so. I can’t hear anyone else.” Divine says, leaning back from the door.

“She’ll be fine, I’m sure,” one of the other dolls assures the room “She’s been here the longest. If they haven’t fired her yet, I doubt they ever will.”

“True. We can’t let this ruin a good Friday night. Five minutes until we need to be out in the booths, girls” Divine announces, and promptly returns to her table to finish her makeup.

Moments before the timer goes off the dressing room door flies open, and Azure stalks back to her table in silence. She’s not upset, but you can see the frustration hidden behind a poor attempt at offhand indifference. You want to ask if she’s alright, but the aggressive way she’s searching through her desk drawer makes you think it’s better to leave her be. The other girls do the same, cautiously looking over at her but making no attempt at conversation.

When the timer rings out you take one final sip of water and head to the door, grabbing the key-card for booth three as you leave.

 - 

“Welcome to clouds, where we always know what you’re looking for.”

The pink light of the glowing reception desk illuminates her face from below. That, combined with her uncomfortably bright smile makes the receptionist look like some sort of robot from a sci-fi film. Zemo lets out an amused huff at the very ambitious welcome promise.

“With all due respect, how could you know exactly what it is I want.”

“Clouds always knows. Your deepest desire – we find it. You’ll have your needs fulfilled – and maybe much more. ‘Less’ is not a word we use around here.” The receptionist replies.

“And how is that supposed to work then,” Zemo questions with a tilt of his head.

“Our algorithm searches your social media. With your permission it will create a personal profile based on any information if can gather, including personal preferences for you partners appearance. The algorithm will then select a doll for you, and create an experience based off that information.,” She slides a form across the desk “of course we ensure this is entirely confidential, this form confirms our promise.”

“I’ll admit I’m impressed. However I do not have a social media presence I’m afraid.” Zemo responds.

He couldn’t lie, the process seemed interesting. It was obviously a successfully programmed algorithm if the establishment had such a strong reputation. He found himself for the first time tonight not entirely doubting his choice to come here. He was interested to see what they would do for his situation.

“In that case I’ll have to ask you a few general questions to select a doll for you. If you are unsatisfied with their performance, you’ll be entitled to a refund at the end of the session.”

The receptionist begins to read a series of questions from her computer screen, gender preferences, what sort of experience he’s looking for. She concludes with organising payment, and the price is eyewatering even with the slight discount she applies since they cannot use the algorithm. When all is paid and signed for, the receptionist asks for a safe word. Admittedly it throws Zemo for a minute.

“It’s company policy” she says.

“Pontiac” he says bluntly, after a moment of thought.

“Fantastic.” The receptionist enters his response to the computer “Welcome to clouds. Serenity will be waiting for you in booth three.”

Zemo passes through another set of double doors and finds himself in a labyrinth of pink lights. The walls are lined with black, opaque glass and every so often a blue neon number protrudes from the wall indicates the booth behind it.

It doesn’t take long for him to find booth three, but he pauses before pressing the button to open the door. He takes a breath, collects his thoughts and lets his head and shoulders drop. He doesn’t want to look at his reflection in the tinted glass. Five years ago the thought of coming to a place like this would never have touched his mind, even in his questionable youth he had always been opposed these places. The risk that they were run unethically was far too great for his conscience. But he was not the man he was five years ago. Since Sokovia he wondered if he had a conscience at all anymore.

He presses the button, and the glass panel slides open.

It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust to the room. It’s dimly lit, faint blue and purple lights shine against the walls that are lined with the same dark, opaque glass as outside. There’s a chic, white sofa against the left wall, and against the right is a simple bed.

Sat atop it, kneeling with her thighs spread and covered by a short black night dress is the prettiest girl he’s seen in years.

 - 

He’s handsome, is the first thing you think when the glass door slides open.

It’s rare that you ever receive a client you’re inclined to call attractive, even the most conventionally attractive men that come here bring with them such a foul soul that it taints their appearance. Not this man, though.

He’s smartly dressed in dark trousers and a well-fitting grey jumper. His hair is styled nicely, it’s either brown or very dark blond (you can’t tell in the coloured lighting). He carries himself well, but after a year of working here you’ve grown accustomed to seeing through the façade’s of your clients. He’s apprehensive. Unsure if he belongs here. Hesitant.

“You must be Helmut. It’s nice to meet you,”

You try to make your voice sound soft and gentle, cocking your head to one side to beckon him in. You get the sense he wants something authentic, or at least that’s what his profile had said when it was sent through from reception moments ago. No porn-star moans or obscene pick-up lines tonight.

He collects himself, and the harsh line his lips have been pressed into relaxes as he enters the room. The glass panel slides shut, trapping the two of you in the bubble of the booth. It’s tranquil. You think he must need that.

“And you must be ‘Serenity’” He responds, crossing the room to sit on the sofa. His eyes don’t leave you as your ‘name’ rolls of his tongue with amusement. You can hear the next question in your head before he even opens his mouth again.

“So what’s your real name?”

They always ask you that. They ask every doll that. The clients are desperate to form a connection with you. To brag to their friends that they have a special relationship with a doll at clouds. You’ve never told anyone your real name before, it’s against company policy. Clouds attracts the rich of Madripoor, and rich in Madripoor usually means dangerous. It’s for your own protection more than anything else, you really don’t need work following you home.

You picked a name the day you were hired and that’s the name every client has known you by. This man will be no different. You begin your usual response:

“A name is a name, Helmut. A title. An advertisement of who you are. I want my name to tell you exactly who I am, so that you can know everything about me. I want to bring you peace.”

He adjusts his hips and rests his arms across the back of the sofa. He regards you quietly, and you’re positive he can tell that your response was a deflection. His eyes squint slightly, and a flash of humour appears in his dark pupils.

“Well I hardly think that’s fair. You get to call me by my name, but I don’t get to know yours?” He lets out a huff of laughter “Actually, I don’t think I’ll let you use my name. We should be equals, should we not?”

You admit you’re enjoying this. The smooth accent and playful tone of his voice keeps you interested. You swing your feet around so that you’re sat facing him on the bed, reclining back on your palms to match his casual stance.

“What should I call you then?”

“You said a name is just a title. So then my title can become my name. You can call be Baron, Serenity” He says your name like it’s some sort of inside joke, taunting you to give up and tell him who you really are. You won’t be so easily swayed.

“So what’s a Baron doing in Madripoor then?” You say with genuine curiosity. If it weren’t for the NDA’s you’re forced to sign you would be buzzing to tell the other girls who you’re spending the night with. You can’t imagine that aristocracy visits this place frequently. “And do you drink?”

“I do, thank you” he says, and you hop down from the bed and walk to the low table in front of the sofa that carries a few glasses and a bottle of expensive-looking alcohol. You know he’s looking at the satin hem of the night dress as it tickles to top of your thighs, and when you bend down to pour him a glass, you make sure he gets a tasteful peak at your cleavage.

“I’m here to work, actually.”

Did aristocrats work? You thought they were just for show.

“I’m… translating some documents. It’s taking me a very long time,” He continues, watching intently as you finish preparing his drink.

“A Baron and a translator? Sounds like you’ve got a lot on your plate” You loop around the table, perching beside him on the sofa and handing him his drink.

“It’s more of a personal project I suppose, but a very important one” he says, accepting the drink with his free hand. The one that rests behind you on the back of the sofa comes up to rest between your shoulder blades. It’s a very gentle touch, just the tips of his fingers making contact with yours skin and moving in a tiny little circle. He’s testing the waters with you, seeing how receptive you are. It’s almost gentlemanly.

“It must mean a great deal to you. We could talk about it, if you like? We can talk about anything you want to,” You reach up to play with the hair at the nape of his neck, enjoying how he melts into the action.

“Anything but your name?” He shoots you teasing look from the corner of his eye, and you give a little strand of his hair a small playful tug in response.

“Anything but that, Baron”

“Tell me something else about you. Like why you came to Madripoor, I can tell you weren’t born here.”

Jesus you can’t tell if this man is a pest or just being polite. It’s unusual for him to be asking these questions of you, most men would usually have you on your knees by now. You hum and give him one last stroke down the back of his neck, before climbing off the sofa and walking back towards the bed.

“Very perceptive. I’m not from Madripoor, no,” you crawl onto the bed, taking your time so that the baron can take a good look at where the night dress rides up over the curve of your ass “but we’ve only just met, and only my friends get to know my life story.”

You settle yourself comfortably at the top of the bed, lying down and propped up on your elbows so you can maintain the measured look he’s giving you.

“Perhaps I should come over there and get to know you better” he says calmly, with the barest hint of a suggestive undertone.

Thank god he’s dropped the topic of your true identity. You can handle sex; you don’t need an interrogation tonight. Slipping into character you drop your voice to a low whisper and cock your eyebrow.

“Perhaps you should”

The corner of his mouth twitches into a smile as he accepts your little challenge. In one fluid motion he downs the rest of his drink, places the empty glass back on the table, and rises to walk towards the bed. No, he stalks towards the bed with a natural swagger that admittedly makes your chest squeeze tight.

Within a second he’s onto you, slotting himself between your parted thighs and pressing his lips to yours. Your baron kisses well, is the only thing you’re capable of thinking as he uses his body to push you down into the cushions. One of his hands slides up your body, skimming across your neck before coming to rest below your jaw. He doesn’t squeeze, just gently holds you in place so that he can kiss you how he pleases.

After a moment he tilts your head up slightly, pausing the kiss so he can look down at you. You reckon you look a picture of arousal, pupils blown and cheeks flushes as you catch your breath. Your baron seems to agree; he’s looking at you like the cat that caught the canary, and you shiver when his grip gets just a fraction tighter on your jaw.

“So pretty,” he praises quietly as he dips down to skim his lips over your pulse.

The tender pressure makes you whine and arch up beneath him and he acknowledges you with a hum and a hand on your breast. As he continues his assault on your neck, the free hand on your chest squeezes the flesh softly, finding your nipple beneath the silky fabric and circling it with his thumb.

When it pebbles to his satisfaction he pulls away and you keen at the loss of contact. He tuts, pulling down the straps of your nightgown and peeling it down below your chest, shuffling down slightly so that his face is level with your now exposed torso.

He breathes out against your nipple before latching onto it, with one hand he squeezes your neglected breast and the other slides from its place on your jaw to the base of your neck. Again he doesn’t squeeze, just exerts a level of control that lets you know where he wants you. If you wanted to you could break free, but why would you want that? The way his thumb begins to circle your pulse point has you practically melting into the bed, the thought of telling him to stop can barely manifest in your mind.

You reach down to dig your fingers into the baron’s back, instead only making contact with his expensive-feeling jumper. You huff in disappointment and pull him from where he’s entertaining himself with your tits, meeting his hazy eyes that are riddled with confusion.

“I thought we were trying to get familiar with one another?” you ask, and his eyebrows pinch in confusion “How are we supposed to do that when you’ve got so much between us?”

The baron’s face melts in amusement, and he reluctantly pulls himself away from you to pull the jumper off and start undressing fully. You take a moment to catch your breath, watching him peel away his clothes to reveal his impressive body. He’s slender but impeccably well-toned, his torso is covered by a light dusting of hair that leads your eyes down to the impressive bulge in his underwear.

Tonight should be very entertaining.

Your sit up, reaching out to run your hand down his chest but before you can begin to pull at the waistband of his underwear, his hand shoots out to grab your wrist.

“I don’t know where you think you were going, but I was quite enjoying myself” he says roguishly. He gathers both of your wrists into one hand and pins you pack against the bed, with both hands restrained you have no choice but to let him bury hid face into your neck again.

This time he uses his free hand to skim along the inside of your thigh, getting high enough that you think he’ll reach the apex between your legs but instead he trails his fingers back down towards your knee again.

You whine in frustration as he continues his cycle of teasing up and down your leg, he ignores you until you tug against his grip on your wrists. He makes a low noise and quickly tightens his hold on you. The sudden movement sends a chill down your spine, and for the first time in a long while, you feel genuinely inclined to beg a man.

“Please-” you breathe out shakily “I want-”

Your voice cuts off suddenly as his hand moves boldly to cup your pussy. You can hear how embarrassingly wet you are as his fingers move through your folds, and he hums happily when he finds your clit with his thumb. Slowly he circles it, applying just the right amount of pressure to have you wriggling in his grip.

“This? Is this what you want?” he asks, and his voice has dropped at least another octave.

You shake your head furiously. Right now this is just not enough, you can feel his dick rubbing against your leg and you’re beyond desperate to have him fuck you open with it.

“No?” he says with feigned innocence “What is it that you want then?”

“More” is all you can get out “I want you in me. I’m wet enough, see?”

Your baron seems unconvinced. He circles a finger around your entrance before pushing in, rocking it gently inside you as he tries to decide if he thinks you’re really ready. He continues for a moment more before adding a second finger, now with two fingers stuffed in you and his thumb still working on your clit you’re almost ready to cum. It’s making you desperate, and it doesn’t help at all when he buries his face in your tits again.

Finally he lets your wrists go and immediately your hands grab at whatever part of him they can, eventually you settle with gripping his shoulder and hair as you try desperately to urge him to fuck you. He gets you right to the edge, literal moments away from finishing on his fingers when he pulls them away from you with an obscenely wet noise.

You let out a frustrated, desperate whine as he separates from you. He looks down at you with satisfaction as he takes in your flustered state.

“Stay still, you’ll get what you want” he says, and he reaches for his pants to retrieve a condom. It takes him a minute to pull himself free of his underwear and put the condom on. In your desperate state it feels like an eternity.

He positions himself between your legs, lifting the hem of the nightdress so he can get a good view of your pussy whilst he lines himself up. He pauses before he presses forward, looking up at you for any last-minute hesitation.

You nod your consent instantly, not trusting yourself to get any words out.

When he pushes in you think you might cum from that alone. He’s a perfect size, long enough that you feel as though you could feel him in your belly. When he finally bottoms out you can’t help but squeeze him tight, and he slumps over you, his face tucked into the side of your neck and swears in a language you don’t recognise. He nudges his hips forward as if to get deeper than he already is. The both of you gasp out at the sensation and he repeats it a few times, just the tiniest movements of his hips that causes him to rub against something deep inside you.

He pushes himself up on his forearms so that he can get a good look at you. In turn, you get to see the state of him as well – his eyes are impossibly dark and glazed over with something wildly lustful, his once pristine hair hangs dishevelled over his reddened forehead. Your baron’s lip curls wickedly as he sets a punishing pace, pushing you deeper into the sheets. It feels like he’s trying to fuck you through the bed.

His previous teasing had done a real number on you, and within minutes you’re moments away from cumming. You don’t think you could get much out of your mouth other than pathetic little whimpers right now, instead you reach up and pull the baron down for a deep kiss, one that he melts into fully.

When you do cum it’s fucking incredible. You’d never use a word that strong to describe a client before, but your baron brings with him many firsts for you. You cry out into his mouth as he picks up the pace to ride you through your high, your fingers dig into his shoulder so tightly you wonder if you’ve drawn blood. If you have, he doesn’t seem to mind. If anything it spurs him on as he fucks you to the point of oversensitivity.

He finishes just as you think you can’t handle anymore. His hips stutter momentarily, and tremors run down his spine in waves. The entire time he’s rambling in a foreign tongue against your skin until his pants of exhaustion overtake his ability to speak.

Your baron collapses on top of you but you hardly have the brainpower to care that he’s crushing you. Instead you reach up to run your fingers through his hair, listening to him as he catches his breath against your chest.

You yourself are struggling to even out your breathing, it feels as though you’ve run a marathon and the man on top of you seems thoroughly amused by that.

“Come now,” he says as he smooths a hand up your side “I wasn’t that good.”

You can hardly help the genuine laugh that escapes you.

“Humility doesn’t look good on you baron.”

The man in question huffs out a laugh before peeling himself away from your sweat-slicked body.

“I suppose I should make myself scarce. I imagine you have other, much more interesting clients to see tonight” he says, moving to sit on the side of the bed.

“You can stay and talk if you want, it’s entirely up to you. You paid for this, after all.” You say, secretly hoping he’ll stay for just a minute longer. You don’t intend to entertain anyone else tonight, but part of you is quite intrigued by your newest client.

“Well in that case I have one final question I’d like to ask” he says as he slowly begins to dress himself again.

“Ask away.”

Once his trousers are securely over his hips he pauses to look at you. There’s a soft expression on his face, as if he already knows he’s not going to get the answer he wants.

“What’s your real name?”

You really shouldn’t be surprised that he’s asked again. Truthfully, it’s not the question itself that’s thrown you, it’s how tempted you are to answer it. His voice is so compelling at the moment that your name nearly springs from your tongue without you noticing.

“Oh baron,” you say quietly “you know I can’t tell you that.”

His lips press together in acceptance, and for a second his eyes leave yours. As he begins to get ready again, he gives his response.

“It was worth a shot.”

[all-the-love-harold]

Fine Line

Chapter 1 - Lovin’ you’s the antidote 

The First installment of my new series, let me know what you think about Harry and Clara

December 16th 2019

Clara was sitting on her window sill staring out at the rain falling down onto the street below her. People were battling with their umbrellas against the wind and she felt a sudden feeling of warmth as she stared into her living room, her best friend's new album playing through her TV and grateful that she wasn’t outside and that she didn’t have to leave her flat now until tomorrow morning she turned it up. The sound of Harry’s voice singing “Just let me adore you” echoed around the room and in that moment, she couldn’t help but feel lonely. Harry was still in LA after the release of his album and the rest of her friends were back in their hometowns for Christmas already. Normally she would call her boyfriend, but less than 2 hours after Harry boarded his plane to LA, Will called her and said that he wasn’t in love with her anymore and it was probably best that they stopped seeing each other. And just like that 8 years was over in one phone call and her shoulder to cry on was on a plane halfway over the atlantic.

Clara had met Will on her first day of university and they’d been together ever since but apparently his work had become too important and he didn’t have time for her anymore. She knew this was a load of bullshit, she knew that he’d been spending a lot of time with his assistant, who was very skinny and very blonde and everything that Clara hated about the world.

“You’re better off without him” Harry had said to her over the phone when he finally had the chance to call her back

“Doesn’t feel like it right now” she replied

“I know,” Harry sighed “I wish I could hug you”

“Me too” she said, Harry’s hugs always made everything better, they had ever since they were little and the worst thing that happened to them was falling off their bikes onto the concrete.

Clara sighed deeply as she sunk down into her spot on the bay window. She hated that she couldn’t enjoy having one night to herself, but she had gotten so used to having people around her, people she had to look after or take care of in some way.

“Maybe I should get a dog,” she thought to herself. Then she would never really be alone and she’d always feel needed.

But she lived in a small apartment so she would need a dog that was ok with being left inside while she was at work. Or maybe even a dog that she could take to work with her. Or a dog that Harry could dog sit for her when he was home. She pulled her phone out of her pocket and googled her local shelter. This was the most excited she had felt for months and the advice her mum gave her when she was young kept replaying in her head

“A dog or a baby will never be a mistake, they might make things harder sometimes, but you’ll love them so much that you’ll never feel like you made the wrong decision” and love was exactly what Clara needed right now. Because after Christmas Harry would be leaving for an almost year long world tour and she couldn’t stand the thought of being alone in London for that long. And her job meant that she couldn’t move back home to Holmes Chapel.

With just nine days left until christmas the shelter was full of dogs that needed new homes, dogs of all shapes and sizes, some who had been there for months and some who had only spent a few days there so far. If she had a bigger space, she'd adopt them all, but for now, one would do. She scrolled through and looked at all the profiles on the website before deciding that she would need to meet the dog before making any kind of concrete decision. And that was that, tomorrow morning she would pick Harry up from the airport and take him straight to the shelter to help her choose her new baby.

***

“Good Morning Ra” Harry said, shoving his bags into the boot of her car. The advantage of having a best friend that lived in London was not having to feel like an ass who needed a chauffeur to drive him around his home city.

“Good Morning Harold” she smiled trying to contain her excitement. Sleeping on the idea of getting a dog had not changed her mind, if anything it had only made her more sure of herself. And maybe slightly nervous.

“You’re very cheerful for someone who’s just been dumped” he said as he sat down in the passenger's seat and buckled his seatbelt.

“Do you have anywhere you need to be today?” she asked, ignoring his attempt at mentioning the elephant in the room

“I have rehearsals tonight, but until 7 I am free, don’t you have to be at work?”

“I have the day off”

Harry frowned “You never take days off” he said suspiciously “What’s going on?”

“We’re going on an adventure” she handed him her phone, “You’re in charge of the music”

“Da da da da da da ddada” The opening line of Golden echoed through the speaker, and Clara drove off,away from the airport, rolling her eyes at Harry for playing his own album.

They drove mostly in silence, Harry didn't want to ask where they were going and after the way she ignored his comment about the break up he didn’t want to bring it up in case it made her sad when right in this moment she seemed happier and more excited than he’d seen her in months.

They pulled up in a dingy looking car park on the outskirts of London and Harry furrowed his brow

“Where are we?” he said, half tempted to lock his car door

“I’m getting a dog” she smiled widely

“A dog?”

“Yeah, you know four legs, barks, like to go on walks, looks really cute when it’s asleep”

Harry laughed “I know what a dog is” he said, “But you’re not home enough for a dog”

“Office dog” she smirked “and I didn’t think you’d have any objections to dog sitting when you’re around”

“I mean, I don’t” he half smiled “but are you sure”

“Harold, in the very wise words of my beautiful mother, a dog or a baby is never a bad thing. And since the other half of my baby decided to up and fuck off a week ago, I’m getting a dog”

Harry sighed and unclipped his seatbelt, “You know most people find a rebound after a breakup, but a dog suits you better.” Harry knew when to stop arguing, he’d known Clara his whole life and, in a way, he knew she was right, a dog really was exactly what she needed.

They walked into the shelter side by side and anyone walking past would guess that they were a happy couple, looking to add the first addition to their little family. But that wasn’t the case, Harry and Clara had never been and will never be more than friends, despite what their mothers might think.

“Hi” Clara said as they walked into reception “I’m looking to adopt a dog”

“Of course” the girl smiled eyeing Harry off “just follow the hall all the way down to the end and one of the girls will help you once you’re down there.”

“Thanks” Harry smiled, winking at her as they walked away.

“Do you you have to flirt with everyone?” Clara said to him once they were out of earshot

“Just helping you get a really cute one”

Clara rolled her eyes and ignored him, she found that sometimes if she indulged him too much he became even more annoying.

They walked through the door at the end of the hallway and Clara’s heart immediately split into two. The dogs were all in tiny cages and a few of them looked unwell and malnourished, and that sympathetic feeling she felt when scrolling through their profiles last night only increased tenfold, staring into their lonely little eyes.

“Hi, my name’s sarah” a girl came around the corner, a wide grin on her face “are you just having a look or are you here to adopt today?”

“I’d like to adopt” Clara said definitively

“Yay!” Sarah said, “These dogs here have only just arrived and they’re not quite ready for adoption yet, but if you really fall in love with one of them you can come back in a few weeks and pick them up once they’ve had their needles and health checks or, if you go a little further down, those guys are ready to go - do you have a yard for a big dog, or were you looking for an apartment dog”

“I have a flat” Clara said, “but he has a yard just around the corner from my flat where I would take the dog to run around”

“I think I have the perfect boy for you!” Sarah exclaimed and started down the hallway, stopping outside a cage.

Clara smiled up at Harry and followed, almost at a run she was so excited.

“This is Larry, he’s a 10 month old greyhound and he’s been living in this shelter for 7 of those months”

Clara turned to face the dog and instantly fell in love, she crouched down and let him sniff her hand and instead he gave it a big lick and snuggled into it.

“He’s a sweet boy” Sarah said “but he’s not without his issues, he’s been seen by our behaviour therapist and he’ll need ongoing training and support but a little bit of love will go a long way with this little guy”

“What did he need to see the behavior therapist for?” Harry asked, knowing that Clara wouldn’t.

“He’s displayed a few guarding behaviors, they’re not uncommon for his breed, with the right training, he’ll grow into a wonderful dog”

Clara had stopped listening, she was kneeling down now, with her hand outstretched so that Larry could sniff it. But he didn’t want to just sniff, he greeted Clara with a great big lick and she knew right then that this was the dog that she would be taking home today.

“I’m sold” she said, without taking her eyes off the dog, who was now sitting very elegantly, staring up at her.

“Really?” Sarah said “Great, I’ll go and get him and take him to the play area and you guys can get to know each other while I get all the paperwork sorted - any questions?”

“Just one” Clara said thinking of the only obvious issue with adopting a dog named Larry and being publicly linked to Harry “Can I change his name?”

“Of course” Sarah smiled “He’s still a pup so he’ll learn his new name very quickly”

“Perfect”

Harry smiled at Clara as Sarah walked away “Are you sure Ra?”

“I’m sure as hell H, I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life”

“Alright then” he smiled “guess I’m becoming an uncle today”

***

“How about David Bowie” Harry said later that afternoon, sitting on Clara’s living room floor, throwing Larry the tiny tennis ball that he’d gone out and bought after they got him home.

“Bowie for short” Clara mused “I really like that”

“David when he’s in trouble” Harry laughed

“Bowie” Clara called and Larry’s ears pricked up

“Bowie” she said again, and he bounded over to her.

“Well that’s settled then” Harry said.

Bowie sat down on Clara's lap while she petted his head gently.

"I'm so in love with you already little dog"

Harry spent the rest of the afternoon watching as Clara turned into the dog mum she was always meant to be and he felt his heart swell every time she smiled at something Bowie did.

"Loving you's the antidote" he thought to himself although in that moment he wasn’t entirely sure who was helping who.

***

December 19th, 2019 - London’s Electric Ballroom.

Late was one thing that Clara hated being. If she was ever late for something it usually filled her with so much anxiety that she would have to call someone and let them know that she was in fact on her way. But tonight she was running late because she couldn’t tear herself away from a snuggle on the couch with her beautiful boy and she hadn’t called anyone because couldn’t bring herself to tell anyone that she was late to her best friend's album release because she was too busy snuggling her dog and that she wasn't sorry at all. So instead she snuck in the back door, slipped into the dressing room and pretended she had been there the whole time.

“Gem!” she exclaimed when she spotted Harry’s sister “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.

“No you haven’t” she smirked “You just snuck in that back door, you were late”

“Shhh” clara hushed “Don’t tell H”

“He won’t care, not today, anyway - Have you met the latest piece of arm candy?”

Clara batted her eyelashes at the news that Harry was dating someone new

“No” she shook her head, “I didn’t know there was anyone new”

“Oh they only met a few days ago, just before he left for LA I think, but she’s pretty clingy and so far she doesn’t seem that nice”

“Blonde?” Clara asked, a tone of bitterness evident in her voice

Gemma nodded

“Skinny?”

“You bet” Gemma sighed

“Checks out” Clara nodded, “That’s why he hasn’t told me, I think he’s afraid I’ll get sad if he’s dating someone that looks like the girl Will slept with 2 days after he broke up with me”

“What a prick” Gemma said “Will, I mean, not H… maybe H a little bit” she added

“Is she here?” Clara asked, raising her eyebrows as if she was on a mission.

“Yeah” Gemma nodded towards the closed door to Harry’s private dressing room “They’re in there together, doors locked”

“Gross” Clara rolled her eyes.

All of Clara’s gulit about being late seemed to disappear after that, Harry would never know, or care if he was too busy having sex with a girl he’s only just met in the dressing room just before the show. Especially if hadn’t deemed her important enough to tell Clara about.

Go time was fast approaching and eventually Jeff and Tommy, Harry’s managers, started ushering all the guests into the concert hall, so that Harry could get ready and warm up. Clara had never been to this venue before, but as herself and Gemma stepped out onto the balcony, she understood why it was called the electric ballroom, the room was buzzing with excitement and she felt herself become excited too. She did always love watching Harry perform. She had ever since they were babies and Harry would dance in the kitchen play area at daycare and she would giggle along.

“Just there” Gemma whispered to her, pointing at the tall blonde that just walked into the room.

Clara shrugged and handed Gemma the glass of wine that she herself had just been handed “Well if H won’t introduce me, I’ll just introduce myself”

She walked over to where the girl stood, looking lonely and out of place and held her hand out to her quickly withdrawing it, thinking about where it might have been not too long ago.

“Hi, I’m Clara” she said, keeping her hands firmly by her side, “I’m Harry’s best friend, Gemma told me that you guys are dating”

The girl looked her up and down “I’m Shelly” she said, sounding bored with the conversation already “If you’re his best friend you’ve probably been to one of these things before right”

“Yeahhh” Clara nodded, not sure where she was going with this “Once, this only his second album”

“How long do they go for? I’ve got a somewhere to be later”

“He’ll be on stage for about an hour and half” Clara said taken aback by the lack of support she was showing “but it’s a release show, so he’ll want to hang around celebrate the album going to number one already”

Shelly scoffed “Oh well I Probably can’t stay for that, I might even have to leave before he gets off stage”

Before Clara had a chance to reply the house lights turned off and a voice began to echo around the room.

“Right” Clara nodded, not wanting to say too much, although it was becoming pretty clear to her that they both seemed to only be in this for sex “Well it was nice to meet you, I’m going to go watch from over there”

“She’s a delight, isn’t she?” Gemma said, handing Clara back her glass of wine, glad that the screams were echoing around the room loud enough to drown her words out from any eavesdroppers.

“I give it a month”

Gemma didn’t have a chance to retort, because Harry had made his way onto the stage and the screams filling the room became deafening, but she thought a month was ambitious.

“Golden, golden, golden, As I open my eyes' ' A smile as wide as Harry’s cheeks spread across his face as he looked out into the crowd and he winked at Clara when he found her standing next to Gemma on the balcony.She always loved that his first instinct was to find her in a room full of people. She smiled back at him and tears filled her eyes. She was so proud of the man standing up on that stage, he’d come so far since the last time they were standing in a room like this and she’d been there every step of the way.The smile on his face said it all, he was happy and he was proud of the album he’d written and so was she.

“I’m Harry, nice to meet you, thank you very much for having me, how are you? Harry said after playing Golden “The crowd cheered and Harry moved his gaze back to where Clara and Gemma were standing, tears streaming down both of their faces “Good! Before we start the show properly, I’d like to point out that my beautiful sister and my beautiful best friend are already crying, after they promised they would wait until I sang Falling”

The crowd laughed and Clara only cried more while Gemma tried to hide her tears from everyone who had now turned around to look at them.

“So my new album came out a week ago, and tonight I’m going to play it for you. London is home. You are my home, it only felt right to sing it in front of you before it goes on tour. So welcome, and sing along when you can”

As Harry began to sing Watermelon Sugar, Clara glanced over at the space where Shelly had been standing and noticed that she was gone. Clara shrugged and turned back to face the stage. All she wanted to do now was dance, and enjoy the art her best friend had devoted himself to for the last year and a half.

When the first notes of “Falling” echoed around the room Clara’s heart sank and she was taken back to the day he’d written the song. It wasn’t that long ago, 4 months maybe, and he was heartbroken, a complete mess, he had been so in love and camille had ripped his heart right out of his chest and walked away with it. He didn’t know what to do with himself, so he found comfort in Clara’s apartment, pretending that none of it ever happened. And that’s exactly how Clara felt now, Will was gone, she was alone, and she felt like maybe that was it for her, she’d had her one great love and now she was someone no one would want around. Life had it’s funny ways of letting you know that you’re on the right path, and for Clara, listening to Harry on stage, reclaiming his heart for himself in a room full of people who loved and supported him through his worst moments, was one of them, if he could do it, so could she. Each song after that filled her heart with more and more pride and by the time Harry came off stage she felt as though she was going to explode.

“Harry fucking Styles” she said running into his arms when she finally got backstage

“Clara fucking Riley” he wrapped his arms around her

“I want to stay and party but I have to get home to my Bowie”

Harry kissed on the forehead “If I could I’d skip the party to hang out with Bowie too.”

“He’s pretty much the best”

“I’ll stumble in at some point later on though” he smiled “So we can head back home for christmas early tomorrow”

“Good idea, alright, Love you H - and we have to talk about Shelly in the car!”

“No we don’t” he smirked

[isolaradiale]

The dark hues of the evening blended to lighter, softer blues of dawn. With every minute, the creatures of the museum began to slow until they stopped altogether, all at once. Whatever they were doing, they dropped it, and began to move their way to the places they had been before the museum took a turn for the lethal.

The artwork climbed back into their frames, stepped onto their pedestals, and walked back into their display cases. A light rain outside washed all the street paint away, color emptying into the drains in the city. Landscapes let their prisoners out, shutting the windows to their world.

Those unlucky enough to earn a spot on the Wall of Shame reappeared in the lobby, their wounds appearing as colorful splashes of paint, and nothing more.

As the oranges and golds of the sun trickled in through the ornate windows of the museum, a blaring voice interrupted the stillness as the intercom museum sparked to life.

"Goooood moooorning, my lovely little visitors! The door to the museum will be opening shortly. Please make your way back to the lobby in an orderly fashion, and be sure to grab all your belongings!"

As Capella promised, the large wooden doors opened once again, releasing all the prisoners of the museum.

"Thanks for visiting the Tempus Museum! Janus, did you want to say any parting words?" "I'm mortified enough as it is, thank you." Came a muffled voice from behind, sounding much less enthused.

"Aww, somebody's cranky... Well, suit yourself!"

As if to add *Extra Enthusiasm*, as everyone exit the doors, they passed by Capella's invulnerable form as she personally waved everyone goodbye, stickers glittering in the morning sunrise. Janus was still sitting at the reception booth, head in his hands and rubbing his temples.

"Bye bye! Goodbye now! Goodbye! Buh-bye! Bye now!" was the chorus that trailed off as she spoke, bidding farewell to the museum's visitors...

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Thank you, everyone, for participating in our recent event: Canvas! As a reminder, you will receive event participation IF:

You've written a starter, thread, mini, or interacted with someone else using the event setting for parts 1, 2, or both.

You've written a 500 word drabble using the setting of the event for parts 1, 2, or both.

You did not have to participate in both parts to receive event credit (so if you only wanted to participate in part 1, it still counts!)

Remember that for participating in the event, you can give yourself 100 stars to use in the marketplace!

A few things have changed as a result of this event, also:

The Tempus Museum has decided to make its home in the Archimedes ward, for now, not far from the Theater of Calliope. Its structure and function is largely the same, but the Optimized Tools won't be there. The artwork won't come to life and attack you, either... during the daytime, that is. You can check out its full description on Archimedes' page!

Janus still takes his place as the museum's curator, and does his best to accommodate guests of the museum. It's not uncommon to see him taking and teaching courses and workshops in the museum, either! He's still polite and eager to help with anything involving the museum and its activities, but if asked questions about the Stars or Spirale, he'll politely explain that he doesn't want to get anyone into trouble. As in the event, on the odd chance that someone is hostile and violent toward him, they'll instantly be killed, and will respawn back in their room.

Thanks again for participating in Canvas! We hope you had a great time!

Frequently Asked Questions:

"Do the things we made turn back to normal?"

Yup! If you didn't destroy it in Part 2 of the event, whatever you made will turn back to normal.

"Will our artwork try to kill us at night?"

Nope! If you took it with you, it's of no danger to you. If you kept it on display at the museum, it's also no danger to you (or anyone else for that matter.) Only the original stock monsters of the museum come to life at night. But unless your muse breaks into the museum, you have nothing to worry about.

The monsters still have their damage invulnerabilities, so unless your muse has a death wish, maybe don't break into the museum without some serious planning. Shady art theft rings will buy your stolen artwork for a hefty price, though, so whether it's worth the risk or not is up to you.

The more often your muse breaks into the museum, the more the monsters will recognize their patterns. Breaking into the museum more than two times is almost impossible, and should be reserved only for the most cunning of thieves.

"What if we made weapons or jewelry? Can we take those back home too?"

Sure! Just know that the weapons will go back to being fragile, and will shatter if used in combat. Any jewelry will look very convincing, but if you try to sell them to anyone, they'll identify it as a fake. Not that they won't buy what you have anyway, but it certainly won't be worth the price of actual precious stones and minerals.

"Can we go back to the museum?"

Yes! It's open to the public from sunrise to sundown, unless there's a nighttime gathering at the museum (which you're free to come up with on your own if you'd like to use it in a setting for a thread.) You could also theoretically break in or sneak in, or hide until the place closes, but you run the risk of running into the guard patrols... or worse.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ (Epilogue)

As the visitors left the building, Capella skipped over to the front desk. Caelum emerged from the darkened corner of the lobby to join her, with the rubber stopper on his cane making soft thumps on the elaborate stone tile.

"Well, that was fun! Thanks for letting us use your museum, Janus." "You're... welcome, I suppose." "Good good! I'll come back here when I make more pieces to show off to the lovely people of our Spirale."

Punctuating this, her hands went up to playfully pat his cheeks.

"Ooookay! Well, until next time! And as for you, Dr. Caelum, I'll see you at this afternoon's meeting or whatever, right?" "Aha, yes I'll be there."

Saluting the both of them, her form vanished into a series of pixels, leaving the other two at the desk. Now that she was gone, the AI turned to give a pointed look at his father.

"...Mmm. Still angry, eh?" Came a chuckle, but the other didn't look so amused.

"You know, at one point, I would have congratulated you for feeling slighted. And I would have celebrated you experiencing such a thing. But you've been around for so long that these things come naturally to you now, don't they? Feelings like being angry... Now I just feel bad when you're upset like any other human."

Another more cheery laugh, and he walked himself over to the doors, motioning the other to follow. With the crowd gone, he could finally step outside and stand on the steps.

"...I am sorry for causing you trouble." "I know." "Good, I'm glad that came across." "I'm still irritated, don't get me wrong." "Yes, yes. I don't doubt it." "And I'm not sure if anyone will come back after such a thing. I wouldn't blame them. I just wanted a place to contribute to this whole thing, and now it's all..."

Sighing, he sat on the first step, watching the rest of the street illuminate in the warm glow of the sunrise. He only realized the old man beside him was trying to sit down when he gave a little huff of effort, and immediately helped his father down beside him.

"Ahh. Much better, thank you." "I could have gotten you a chair..." "Haha, that's alright. If you can sit on the steps, so can I."

For a while, the two sat in silence, watching the streets of Archimedes begin to wake up. Cars stirring, cafes opening, people walking their dogs.

"...Are you doing alright over there?" Janus asked, not turning his head.

"About as well as I can, mmhm." "You still have your migraine medicines down there, right?" "Mmhm. Dr. Lyra has been taking good care of my health, don't worry." "She's the nice one, isn't she? That's a welcome change from the other facility..."

A hand went to the Ai's shoulder, patting it reassuringly.

"Instead of worrying about my health, you should direct that concern inward, Mortimer. You have a place where you can walk around, do all sorts of things humans do. Talk to people, make friends. Play games, read books, paint your lovely canvases. You're not confined to the life we lived three years ago."

Silence followed for a little until the young man leaned against the older one. He must be pushing 70 at this point, right?

"...Are you in a place where you can refer to me by my name? And not that Star code that they made?" "Well, no. Not really. But I don't think anyone's listening. So I don't care~" "Ha! Rebellion got you into this mess, didn't it?" The AI replied with a laugh, earning another from his father.

"Well. Messes that they were, I can still sit with you without you being stuck behind a screen. So even after all the hells we've been through, I'd call that a success. Wouldn't you?"

A smile cracked on his face. They have gone through a lot.

"A success... it's nice to finally call something a success again, father. It's very nice."

[x0401x]

Jeweler Richard Fanbook Short Story #17

Feel free to message me about possible corrections, and please consider supporting the creators by purchasing digital copies of the official releases: Novel || Manga || Fanbook. In case anyone is feeling generous: Ko-fi | PayPal. ( ╹◡╹)っ’･*

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Play of Color

Shaved ice.

A summer that everyone, from kids to adults, knew about. But how to say this in English? I’d never been taught that. Could I even say it to begin with?

The beautiful man responded clearly to my offhand doubts, “‘Shaved ice’. Other options such as ‘ice frost’ and ‘snow cone’ also go into the category, but if you are to to regard the context of ‘ice that was shaved’ as important, then I believe ‘shaved ice’ is appropriate.”

“I see, so it’s a direct translation for ‘ice that’s been shaved’. Got it... A-Aaah! Didn’t you put too much syrup? Ah—”

“I will add more ice.”

A rattling sound echoed through the jewelry shop, where there was nobody but the shopkeeper and his employee. Sitting on the tabletop was an ice shaving machine. As one would expect, we couldn’t commit the barbarianism of placing it directly on a glass table, so three cloths were stacked under the machine’s legs. It wasn’t the manual and nostalgic type but an electric one.

A customer had come over with a paper bag from a famous home appliances mass retailer and bought a glittering yellow diamond that they had reserved, but on this occasion, they ended up forgetting the bag from the electronics retail store. The shopkeeper immediately noticed it and contacted them by phone, but they were in the Narita Express, going straight to Bali for vacation. Apparently, they would only be coming back in the beginning of autumn. What luxury.

The customer who was heading to the southern island had casually said, “You can use it if you’d like—actually, please use it and tell me how it went”, then bid goodbye to Richard with a lighthearted voice and hung up. Inside the paper bag was a brand-new ice shaving machine. It also came with small syrup bags. Seven types of them. The mango, ramune, cola, lime and peach ones were a shock to me, as lived in a world of strawberry, melon and lemon ones. So people could enjoy even things like the pleasure of actually visiting stalls at home nowadays?

That was how we decided to choose at our own discretion a time on the following day when there were no reservations, and began holding a shaved ice party for just the two of us. However, when I said in a joking tone that I honestly never thought we’d really get to be the first ones to use something that a customer had forgotten, Mr. Richard Ranashinghe de Vulpian sighed grievously.

“After what happened yesterday, he contacted me to inform that he had arrived in Bali. He posted on social media, ‘I forgot my ice shaving machine, so I asked an acquaintance to try it out. I’m looking forward to it’, so it seems we need to take a video of the shaved ice as fast as possible. Think of this as also a kind of service.”

“There’s all sorts of jobs out there these days.”

Marketing that introduced new products on social media wasn’t something uncommon these days. But I heard that this sort of business was strict about many things, such as obligations and deadlines, so it might be serious stuff in its own way. I thought up until this point, but then my head whispered, “No, hold on” to me. If this was really the case, then bringing along an ice shaving machine immediately before going to Bali didn’t make any sense. Could it be...?

“Did that person leave this here on purpose? It’s clearly something that you can’t bring into an airplane and would get in the way during the trip.”

“That is possible. But it is not something for a single jeweler to judge. There is a possibility that they thought they would be able to enjoy shaved ice at a beach resort but were mistaken, and are now feeling down. Oh... oh, mgh...”

“Ah, the ice turned into water. Didn’t you put a tad too much syrup?”

“Nonsense. From the market price, it is obvious that the more syrup, the merrier.”

“You told that wholesaler who came to buy a ring with lots of decorative diamonds the other day that ‘more doesn’t equal better’, though.”

“Those are two different things,” he said in an eloquent, beautiful Japanese that sounded like it had been cut and trimmed, at which I prostrated myself with a “hahaa”.

Despite the force in his eyes being certain, he seemed to be having trouble putting an appropriate amount of syrup. When he put an abundant amount of the mango, ramune, cola, lime and peach ones all together, the ski slope-like white canvas turned into a color that looked like that of Shinjuku’s gutters during a downpour. Richard would surely call this shade of gray “smoky quartz” or something like that. The fluffy pile of ice was gone, leaving a sleet – or just plain water – in the glass bowl. It would’ve been fine if he had added them little by little, but on second thought, I was thinking this way because I was Japanese, so I was used to the way we added shaved ice syrup to some extent.

As the jeweler, not discouraged, put his bowl under the ice shaving machine, pressed the button and added more ice with crunchy noises, I called out to him, “Hey. Can you lend me that for a bit?”

“I do not mind.”

I took the bowl of water in my hands, adding the syrups of each type little by little. I felt like the jeweler was staring fixedly at me, like, “You’ll only use that tiny little bit of them? Seriously?” but I ignored him. As they said, the last drop makes the cup run over.

The result was...

“Tadaaah.”

A snowy mountain had changed its form into a richly colored shaved ice. I thought it was pretty good, if I could say so myself.

His eyelashes fluttering as he blinked for a moment, the gorgeous jeweler whispered, “Hoo. Excellent. Beautiful.”

“Well, being told that by someone who’s like an incarnation of the concept of beauty is flattering.”

“Ahem. Anyway, this color is extremely tasteful. It bears a close remembrance to ammolite.”

“‘Ammo... nite’?”

“Not ‘ni’, ‘li’. ‘Ammolite’. Ammolite is a gemstone that derivates from living creatures, of which the components obtain an iridescent effect during the many years of fossilization.” Saying this, Richard opened a video on his phone and handed it over to me. I exchanged it for the bowl of shaved ice as if it were an assembly-line system.

What appeared on-screen was a cross-section view of the ammonite. It was split vertically like a CT image taken at a hospital. The contents were a rainbow-colored stone that sparkled brightly. A gradation of red, green and yellow. It changed depending on what angle you looked at it. A while ago, when I heard about the opal, it was revealed to me that this kind of effect was called “play of color”. Still, to think that the inside of a shell could go through such a transition. There was too much depth to the things that happened in nature, and they were immeasurable.

“So can this be called... a stone too...?”

“This would be something that happened about forty years ago, but it was classified as a ‘gemstone’ by the Gemological Society of America. Of course, I do not think it should be pushed through, even if the costumer themselves happen to say that ‘this is a fossil’.”

It apparently depended on how you thought of it. Thinking back, this applied even to the general idea of gemstones.

I flicked the phone’s screen, head-over-heels for the prism-like shells that showed up one after another. Some people used them as pendants or brooches by processing the glittering part with gold.

“How pretty. Hey, do we also have ammolites here in Etrang... eh?”

“There is a possibility that we will one day. Something the matter?”

The beautiful jeweler had been scooping the shaved ice with a tiny spoon and eating it. He wasn’t eating it in a rushed way at all, but half of the iceberg was already gone. With perfect moderation, so that the proportion of the colors of the syrups that I had added one by one wouldn’t crumble.

“D-Did you like it that much?”

“I have never eaten shaved ice at Japanese stalls. Having a frozen desert in a refreshing place like this has a nostalgic air to it.”

He had never waged shaved ice at a stall. Did that mean he had eaten shaved ice at some fashionable shop? Probably not, I thought. A normal Japanese person wouldn’t eat shaved ice at that pace. The reason went without saying. This pace was – how should I put it? – dangerous.

“Richard, hey, listen well. Shaved ice is—”

“Why are you coming close?”

“I’m telling you something important. You have to eat shaved ice at a high pace.”

“But why are you shortening the distance between us? You are too close.”

“Don’t get hung up on minor stuff. More importantly, you already ate a lot of this shaved ice, right? Aren’t you tired of it? I can eat the rest.”

“It is terribly disconcerting to hear this from the father of this work of art, but I do not see any reason for that whatsoever, thus I humbly decline.”

“Aah! Don’t gulp it down! I said don’t gulp it down!”

“I am not. I do not eat that way.”

“Like I said, that’s not what I’m talking about...”

“It is impolite for me to eat by myself. Hurry and make yours to eat as well.”

“Whatever happens got nothing to do with me...”

Glancing backwards at the jeweler as he gave me an aloof nod, I began making my own shaved ice.

Later on, after Richard pleased the customer by sending them pictures of the shaved ice, he reported back to me. He probably reported because the pictures he had sent to the customer was of the shaved ice that I had made for myself, on which the colors were scattered in the form of a whirlwind. I smiled back, replying that I was glad, and not saying anything else. I also didn’t tell him that, by the time he remembered we had to do a photo shoot of it, the beautiful jeweler was making a face that looked like a boy having a worrisome migraine due to some anguish towards the meaning of life and death.

Summer was not yet over. We also didn’t know yet whether or not the customer in Bali would come to retrieve the ice shaving machine. Etranger wasn’t that big, so Richard was probably troubled that it was left there. But if they didn’t come to get it, I might be able to enjoy eating shaved ice with Richard in the summer every year for a while, I thought. And each of these times, I’d be sure to make a shiny mountain of ice in the colors of a rainbow, just like an ammolite. Just like the sparkly smile that Richard showed, I thought that it’d be great if such a summer came around and was looking forward to it.

[hauntlikeaghost0]

drowning | d.m

summary: you are draco’s lifline.

warnings: little bit angsty but in a fluffy way

a/n: wrote this on my phone so ignore weird spacing but i think i really like it?? idk hehe

༒༒༒

draco’s life was falling apart. slipping and tumbling, crashing down around him faster and faster as time went by; and there was nothing he could do but watch. watch as the rubble buried all his friendships, all his confidence and innocence, all his happiness. and all he could do was prey and beg and just hope that people will forgive him when it was all over. hope and beg and prey that despite seeing his face on the opposite side, despite seeing him next to the people that tore down their home, they won’t see him as the enemy. they won’t see him as evil. but just the battered and broken boy that didn’t have a choice. the battered and broken boy that couldn’t lose anymore.

as he looks out over hogwarts from his place in the astronomy tower, he mulls this over. no, not mulls, he grapples, he obsesses. mind racing repeatedly over how hopelessly fucked his life is about to become. he wonders desperately how he could have possibly let it get this far, he wonders what would have happened if he’d had just said no. surely his parents would be dead now, possibly himself, maybe even you.

now, himself and his father, he could deal with, he could accept. karma’s a bitch and boy did the malfoy men know how to anger her. but his mother, she was the only person to ever make him believe in love, in care, in hope. she would do anything for him, despite him knowing he could live a hundred lives and never deserve that. and you, oh god you. the only person to ever make draco feel as though he was lovable, not worthy of love, as he is convinced he never will be, but somehow, by some sort of miracle, you loved him. you were stubborn as hell and drove him insane but, praise merlin, did you care for that boy so fiercely and so passionately that he almost believed you when you told him he was a gift. he had some bumps and bruises, some scars that would take time to heal but he was precious and beautiful. irreplaceable.

the school grounds were bathed in darkness, stars littering the deep navy sky, reflecting off the black lake as though it were a mirror and dancing around before draco’s eyes. despite the late hours, a few lights still remained, glowing warmly from scattered windows around the castle, inviting the boy to dive into their saftey. an invitation he ignored. although his entire life was constantly casted in shadows, draco still finds a strange comfort in the darkness. the idea of going unseen but still being able to see it all, and, he supposes, it’s just all he’s ever known. he finds darkness at home, darkness at school, darkness in his mind, even some darkness in you, as no one can truly avoid it.

he drags his cold hands over his face, pressing them into his eyelids and watching as patterns appear and swirl beneath the pressure. the only thing that calls his attention away is the familiar sound of your pattering footsteps, climbing the old creaking stairs behind him.

“draco?” you call out as you reach the final step, catching a glimpse of the instantly recognisable platinum hair, only made harder to ignore in the silvery moonlight.

“over here.” he replies, not moving from his position of gripping the metal railing. you instantly recognise the tension in his shoulders and the stiffness of his neck. his mind is elsewhere, lost in what if’s and worst case scenarios.

you take a deep breath, heart already breaking for the boy infront of you, begging yourself to keep it together for him. to be the solid shoulder for him to lean on while everything feels so unstable. “i see you” you breathe out and make your way closer.

you arrive at his side but his eyes stay fixated right ahead, so many emotions swirling in his icy blues that you wonder whether there’s anyone there at all. his hands still grasp the bar infront of him so tightly his knuckles are white and all you can think to do in that moment is lay your, slightly smaller, hopefully warmer, hand atop his.

“you are the best thing that ever happened to me.” you speak out, mirroring his position and fixing your eyes upon the silhouettes of two birds dancing and twirling across the ever darkening skyline. “you know that right?”

you feel him turn his attention towards you, vision locking intently on the side of your face as though trying to discern something so impossibly complicated.

meeting his eyes, you raise your brows. not in a teasing way, but almost so as to open up more of your face to him, to put on display all of your emotions for him to read, desperate for him to find complete sincerity. he only shakes his head.

“i don’t deserve you.” is all he says, eyes glassy but the ghost of a smile appearing on his lips.

rolling your eyes, you reply: “do you think i give a fuck about what people deserve?” there’s a playful tint in your voice, only barely disguising the complete seriousness. draco lets out a short laugh at this, turning to lean his elbow against the railing, finally allowing some lightness to return to his features.

“draco fucking malfoy,” you jab a finger into his chest, “if i could, i would hand you the world with three tiny finger holes in the top and let you use it a fucking bowling ball, me being each one of the ten pins. i would let you repeatedly crush me with the world, which you hold in your hands, because i feel that’s what you deserve.”

“now, i feel that’s a bit rash.” he says, gaze softening even further and a more solid grin making its way upon his face. there’s humor in his voice and it adds a warmth to the night.

“it’s not up for debate.” you snap back, keeping up your serious facade for another two beats until draco rolls his eyes, chuckling to himself quietly.

the sound of his laughter and the beautifully curved grin on his lips brings a sort of joy to you that you can’t quite understand. a sense of pride, not at the fact you managed to make him smile, but at the fact he still can, after all he’s been through. when that beautiful, damaged boys face lights up in the way it just had, everything feels right in the world, nothing can go wrong, nothing can harm you, because draco is happy, draco is happy. it may only be for a moment, a brief second in a lifetime, but it gives you hope, it makes you warm. and you did mean it when you said that boy deserves the world, he truly, truly does.

a silence settles between the two of you and your attention shifts back to those same two birds, now sat comfortably atop one of hogwarts many spires, pressed up against eachother, keeping eachother warm.

“can i have a hug?” a timid voice speaks up from beside you. it’s such a weak and frail sound from someone who appears so casually strong that your heart clenches in your chest, turning your attention towards the delicate boy to your left. you smile up at him as warmly as you possibly can and slowly place a hand on his pale cheek, dusting your thumb lightly over the soft skin and relishing in how it heats slightly beneath you touch.

you only nod in response, dropping both your hands over his shoulders and drawing him into you, so closely and so tightly, he wonders if you’ll ever let him go. he decided he definitely hopes not. instantly, draco is wrapping his arms around your waist, holding you just as securely and somehow managing to bring your body impossibly closer to his, hips and chests flush together. you feel the butterflies fly wildly in your stomach, a sensation not uncommon when being around draco, as he nuzzles his head into your neck, inhaling deeply and making goosebumps shoot up across your body at the feeling of his soft breath against your skin.

“you deserve the world, draco malfoy.” you breathe out softly, sincerity laced thickly in your words, begging for the damaged boy to hear it and willing for him to finally believe it.

draco only grips you tighter, no words escaping his lips but an almost silent sniffle coming from his place snuggled into your shoulder. again you feel your heart in your throat and, in order to fight back your own set of tears that are balancing so dangerously close to falling, you begin to move from side to side, swaying oh so gently like branches in the wind. you cling onto draco and he to you, realising what you’re doing and moving just the same. you place a hand softly on the back of his head, sliding your fingers into his hair and drawing a hum out from the back of his throat that makes your knees buckle slightly.

you continue to sway for a few more moments, draco grasping you like the lifeline he saw you as and you holding him tenderly, savouring the feeling of his closeness as though it were the last drop of oxygen you’d ever receive. he begins to sway you in a circle, turning the pair of you around until your back was against the cold metal railing. you flinch slightly at the feel of the icy iron through your thin bed shirt, followed by the loss of draco’s weight against your neck, however the coldness is soon replaced by a flooding warmth when your eyes lock on his. the amount of emotion seeping from them brings a lump to your throat. there’s still the ghost of the hopelessness that always resides in his steely blues but right now, as he stares and you so intensely, all that can be seen is love. suffocating and overwhelming, soft and beautiful, completely overflowing, powerful love.

it takes everything in you not to scream, yell from the astronomy tower that you could never be more happy because he fucking loves you and you fucking love him and everything’s shit but you’re both in love. so intensely and passionately, in love.

and then he opens his mouth and the words spill like silk from his lips, curving around your heart and tying a beautiful bow atop it. a name tag hanging from the ribbon reads his name and you are sure it will never say any other for as long as the pair of you live, and even then after:

“i don’t want the world, dear, i only want you.”

then the tears spill and his lips meet yours. there’s fire and passion behind the kiss that has him pinning you to the balcony, hands tights against your waist. fire and passion that has you curving into him, hands lost in his hair. but the tears dancing between both your hot lips brings a sorrow to the kiss that makes your heart clench, a neediness that comes only from a broken boy, clinging to you with lust and simultaneously hopeless desperation. draco nips on your bottom lip lightly causing you to gasp softly which he takes as permission to begin the dance between your tongue and his own. each time you go in for more he treats it as receiving another breath of life, the love you’re presenting him with, filling his lungs and quenching his thirst better than anything else ever could.

finally, you pull back, gasping for air and running your tongue over your lips, weirdly addicted to the taste of draco mingled with both of your bitter, salty tears. he does the same, signature smirk adorning his features before he gently leans his forehead against yours, dropping a kiss to your nose that makes you’re heart swell.

“i love you, (Y/N), endlessly.” he breathes out, hand coming up to run his index finger delicately along your bottom lip.

“i love you too draco, endlessly.”

and in that moment, draco smiles. really, truly earnestly, smiles.

his world may be crumbling around him, he may be drowning in the darkness that spills from every person and every crevice of his mind; but, right now, on this balcony, with you in his arms and him in yours, it’s not the moon or the stars that’s keeping the astronomy tower alight. it’s you. it’s you and the love that you allow him to feel, the love that, when he’s with you, seeps from his very bones, pouring out of him and drowning the both of you.

and what a beautiful way to die.

𝐹𝑖𝑛

[skrltwtch]

Muse

Prompt 1: Just like some people sleep-walk, you tend to paint or draw while in your transformed state because it calms you down. And apparently, people really like your art.

Prompt 2: A is a popular artist, and B messages them without thinking one day. They didn’t expect to become friends, and they definitely didn’t expect to become more. Person B just felt that connection between the two of them.

Prompt 3: A/Werewolf has a tendency to curl like a dog in front of the fireplace a lot (usually in their werewolf form, but it’s not uncommon for them to do it as a human). (Sources in master list)

Word count: 3,721 words

Genre: Fluff, romance, supernatural

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

I put up with the long commute to and fro between home and work for two reasons, and two reasons alone: the decent rent for a place with a picturesque view and that catered to my monthly needs, and the glut of time to catch up on my reading. And by ‘reading’, I meant ‘scrolling through the handful of social media feeds that survived my latest cull of shit that was taking up my time and storage space unnecessarily, and occasionally attempting (and failing) to pay attention to my Kindle’. Hey, at least I was aware I had a problem …?

Instagram was my first hit of the day. I flicked past images of makeup, friends in situations I wouldn’t be finding myself in anytime soon, and cute animals. The occasional meme and comic draw out an exhalation of air from my nostrils. I marvelled at artwork and photography, half wishing I were half as good as the people I followed and admired, half chiding myself for not practising either enough and losing interest quicker than I’d dropped money on new equipment in the name of my new endeavours. You could say one of my hobbies, the ones I’d been consistent about, was amassing gadgets obtained to indulge my whims and fancies.

My heart skipped a beat — or was it the pothole the bus went over? — when I came across a new post by George. I didn’t know him personally to refer to him by his first name like that, but hadn’t social media broken down boundaries between people, making them seem closer to each other than they really were? He was an illustrator whose work I chanced upon on Reddit a while back. His portfolio was a patchwork of subjects, often portraits, rendered mostly in traditional media like watercolour and oil paint. He sometimes shook things up with abstract, contemplative pieces. He had something for almost everyone. For me, it was his attractive, angular yet distinctive faces and statuesque figures, use of watercolour, and versatility: one piece could be superhero fanart, followed by a collection of moody, atmospheric paintings of the English landscape with some fantastical additions.

It also helped that he seemed to be a nice, chill person, and a handsome one at that, too, based on the smattering of pictures he had of himself on his feed. Please, let me imagine a world in which someone as ideal as him — or what I knew about him — wasn’t beholden to anyone for a moment.

His latest post was a drippy bust of a snarling wolf with full moons for eyes. The caption simply read: ‘Mood.’ I smirked as I hit the like button. Did I mention that he drew wolves a lot as well? Sometimes his wolves were feral; sometimes they were humanoid, but still wild. The latter featured heavily in his conceptual works, albeit as hazy, indistinct forms, like blurry photographs. In any case, I liked that he had a fondness for wolves and werewolves, as the constant presence of the full moon in art of the latter would suggest. Anyone who liked wolves was a-okay in my book. Anyone who liked werewolves was even more so. Because.

An interrupted connection between my brain and my reflexes led me to visit his profile. Instead of returning to my feed, my thumb gravitated toward the message button at the top of the screen. Not a single cell in my body resisted this turn of events despite the restored connection. Oh, what the hell. Why not? Like, what were the chances he’d read my message? He had tens of thousands of followers, a likely considerable chunk of them being bots aside. He must receive DMs every other minute. I’d be another sycophant in his sea of fans. Or he’d see my homely mug and locked profile, and he’d think I was driven to add to his never-ending count of unread messages simply out of misguided thirst.

The beauty of the Internet was that it made ‘out of sight, out of mind’ fairly easy to put into practice.

I got the following out of my system and into his inbox: ’Hi! Hope you’re doing well. I’ve been following your Instagram for a while, and your latest post just made me want to say your art is amazing. (I can totally identify with the sentiment behind it.) I especially love your more abstract pieces. There’s something so … raw about them. And I like that you seem to like wolves a lot, too. They’re beautiful animals, and your art really captures that about them. Anyway, keep up the great work! Take care.’

I exited Instagram, not caring about the rest of my feed anymore and not wanting to feel like I was stalking my notifications for something that’d never come. My phone buzzed with several notifications as I went down my Reddit homepage. I swiped away the banners with green icons that pelted the top of my screen. Those could wait. What couldn’t were the banners stating that I had a new message and a new follower request from —

‘Oh, my God!’ I said, loudly enough for me to hear my own voice above my music (the chorus of Walk the Moon’s ‘Shut Up and Dance’ at half of maximum volume, so … loud). Not one soul on this lightly populated bus acknowledged my exclamation — not even the woman sitting next to me. (Come on, lady, the front was mostly empty.) Thank God for technology making hermits of us all. Or my sudden outburst paled in comparison to the shit that could happen and had happened on public transport. When you took long journeys as I did every day, you’d see some real shit in due time, too.

I launched Instagram for the second time this morning (stop judging, Screen Time) and the first time ever with trembling hands. The notifications were real. I approved his request first. My mind raced to recollect anything on my profile that might make him regret his decision to let my piddling photos of food, myself, my cat, and random junk take up precious space on his feed. Nope, couldn’t think about that now, because I was now staring at an actual, honest-to-God message from George:

’Hey! Thanks for reaching out, and thank you for your kind comments. They mean a lot to me, especially what you said about my experimental stuff and wolves. They are stunning creatures, aren’t they? And yeah, I drew that last picture after a particularly rough night. You could call it a self-portrait of sorts, I suppose.’

I snorted. Change the fur colour and make the eyes normal, and it was a portrait of myself every full moon. Okay, not something I could tell someone I just met, let alone a popular artist on the Internet …

Before I could recover from the shock that my inbox held an actual, honest-to-God message from George Holden (that was his last name — the oxygen made it to my brain for me to remember that he had his last name on his profile), he sent another one: ’Anyway, how are you? I took a look at your profile, and it looks like we have quite a number of things in common.’

What, really? No way. Was it the lashings of sweet treats I subjected my stomach to every weekend? The horror and science fiction titles, celebrity memoirs, and comics, sometimes paired with an iced coffee at either a café I put down roots for the afternoon or the one-bedroom house in Waltham Forest I called home, I showcased to put forth some form of air of intellectualism? The cross-stitch projects featuring memes and popular culture icons? His profile was quite barren of anything that could provide insight into what else he enjoyed doing besides his art. Which, hey, was perfectly fine: no one was obligated to share their personal life online.

I replied, ’I’m fine, thank you. I’m on my way to work. Favourite part of my day, really. And really? Like what?’

Most of my notifications that day were from him.

✦✧✦✧

I was a bustling hub of activity in my seat: A sip of my drink. A shake of my knee. A lift of my phone. A turn of my neck. A shift of my weight from one butt cheek to the other. I was certain I was generating enough electricity to power a lightbulb in five-second intervals. I couldn’t help it. I was so, so excited — and so, so nervous. This was my and George’s first time meeting each other in person. There’d be no screen between us. Actually, what difference would that make? We’d been talking to each other for months, either through text or video calls, the latter more common in the weeks leading up to today. We’d seen each other even on our ‘I’ll put on a clean shirt, brush my hair, and hope for the best’ days. What could either one of us do in person that would irrevocably alter our friendship for the worse? Well …

The sound of someone entering the café stopped me from starting on a list of things that I could do to fuck things up. I looked up, probably the seventh time I did so in the last ten minutes. This was on me. I grossly overestimated the amount of time it’d take me to get somewhere as usual; a natural by-product of living far from the city. Seventh — probably — time was the charm: it was George — and right on the dot, too. His punctuality added to his attractiveness, which had already gone through the roof and was heading straight into the stratosphere. I bit my lip to suppress any unfortunate exclamations. He was a friend, Evelyn … just a friend, and I had no illusions otherwise.

I called out to him. He waved at me and joined me at the table I picked out for us. And the second our eyes met, devoid of any barrier between us, everything about him — and everything about us — clicked.

He was just like me.

And I was just like him.

And he was as astonished about it as I was, going by the long silence that passed between us, a first since we got to know each other.

‘Hi! Oh, my God, it’s so good to finally meet you!’ I said with a grin to break the tension. He broke out into a smile, his posture relaxing. Success. Should I go in for a handshake? No, that’d be too stuffy for a months-old friendship. A hug? No, that’d be too intimate for a months-old friendship, and an online one, too, no less. Was it obvious this was my first time meeting someone I met online?

‘It’s good to meet you, too,’ he said, his expression of cheer unabating. ‘I’m going to get myself a drink first, and then we can shoot the shit.’ His smile turned into a grin. ‘Do you want anything? My treat,’ he added as he spotted me reaching for my wallet.

‘I was thinking a red velvet muffin, please.’ I didn’t know why I didn’t get one earlier. ‘Thank you.’

‘No problem. I’ll be right back.’

As he left, my nerves turned into happiness that I met another werewolf. It was rare to meet other werewolves just about anywhere. What were the odds that two werewolves, one of whom was Internet-famous, would become friends because the other one had a brain fart one morning to send a message to the Internet-famous one? You couldn’t make this shit up. In all the years I’d been a werewolf, George was the first one I knew. I didn’t even know the one that turned me. I got bitten one night, and that was my life changed forever. I figured everything out on my own — I had to. And my puny social network of werewolves made sense: this wasn’t exactly the kind of thing anyone would advertise about themselves.

Once George settled down and courtesies were out of the way, the first thing out of his mouth was ‘I never thought I’d meet another one like me’.

I moved my chair closer to him so that we could speak at length about what we were without the fear of being overheard. ‘Me neither.’ Then it hit me, and I quickly said, ‘It’s fine if you don’t want to talk about it, though.’ Personally, I was okay with what I was. No existential dread here, contrary to what one might expect of a werewolf. It happened. I learnt to manage it in a way that made it not have any kind of significant impact on my life. I refused to let it define me. And honestly, I lived for particularly bad days that coincided with full moons.

‘Are you kidding me?’ His face lit up with boyish glee. ‘I’ve been waiting for this day for so long! As in, us meeting up in person for the first time and me getting to know another werewolf. Two birds, one stone: the only kind of killing I endorse. And I’m so fucking chuffed it’s you. I always felt like I could talk to you about anything, and now that really, really means anything.’ It was his turn to be able to power a light bulb, but in twenty-second intervals this time.

‘Same. How were you turned?’

‘I was bitten during a camping trip with friends a couple of years back. You?’

‘Secondary school. I was walking home from the library.’

‘Shit, that was some time ago, huh?’

‘Almost half my life a werewolf.’

‘Do you know the werewolf that did it?’

‘Nope. How about you?’

He shook his head. ‘Nah. Kind of sucks, doesn’t it, that you’ll never get to know the person who’s changed your life so … deeply? They won’t remember either that they turned someone. If only having kids was like that, yeah? Absolutely no sense of responsibility whatsoever.’ He gave his teaspoon a lazy twirl, causing a faint plume of milk to rise and sink into the dark, bittersweet depths from whence it came. ‘I struggled with what I’d become the first couple of months. The transformations were one thing.’ Oh, yeah. ‘I felt … grotesque. God, the amount of self-pity, like, why was I the only one who had to go through this every month when there were four other guys ripe for the picking? So, I decided to start incorporating wolves in my art to get to know and reclaim that part of me. I didn’t want to see it as something ugly. I mean, you get to experience a kind of rebirth every month. That’s extraordinary if you think about it. And I told myself that like myself, the wolf didn’t ask to be born. Ha, ha. Millennial humour. Anyway. Then the most miraculous thing happened one full moon: I woke up next to a coherent painting that wasn’t there the night before.’

‘Oh, my God.’

‘Right? My more artsy stuff? The ones I hate coming up with captions for? Almost all done while I was transformed. I’d started some of my art — bet you can’t guess which one — on full moons, too, and I finished them after I changed back. It’s as if the wolf knew we were now cool with each other.’ He took a big chunk out of his apple crumble and jammed it into his mouth. ‘Sorry if that sounded like spiritual woo-woo. I’ve been wanting to tell someone about this forever.’ Crumbs fell out of his mouth as he spoke. ‘Shit, I’m such an’ — he shot me an impish look as he swallowed — ‘animal, aren’t I? Fuck, I can make stupid references like that now, and someone would get it!’

I laughed. He was such a dork. ‘It’s not “spiritual woo-woo”. It’s amazing. How is that even possible?’

‘I have no idea.’ He held out his hands in front of him. ‘So thankful we get to keep our hands and not have them turn into paws.’ He waggled his thumbs. ‘Fuck, yeah, opposable thumbs. And I want to say it’s like when artists get high and make stuff. I do know artists who do that, and hey, no judgment. To them, I do the same thing, too.’

‘And here I am, feeling accomplished whenever I make it through another full moon without waking up in a trashed place. Seriously, that’s amazing.’

‘I think that’s what’s keeping me from losing it while transformed. I was surprised people liked those pieces when I started posting them, considering they’re such far departures from what I usually post.’

‘That explains why they’re so … visceral.’

‘Yeah? I figure you’d appreciate them even more now.’ He smirked. ‘And you know, no one really talks about my wolf art, and especially my werewolf pieces. Maybe if I didn’t make them blurry and made them more explicit …’ Oh, he’d get a different breed of followers altogether. ‘But that’s fine. I don’t want my lycanthropy to define me and my work. It’s just a part of who I am.’

‘My turn to say something possibly corny: I like your wolf art because … they make me feel seen, because they’re drawn by you.’

He put a hand on his chest. ‘That’s not corny. I’m happy my art makes you feel that way. You know I don’t care about the likes or comments. It just so happens I like drawing things that make me get likes and comments.’ He pushed his plate toward me and motioned at me with his fork to try some of his apple crumble. I obliged him. ‘Did you ever suspect anything? Not that, you know, I purposely drew wolves and werewolves as a kind of signal for other werewolves to pick up on. That’d be giving me way too much credit.’

‘No, I just thought you like wolves a lot.’

‘Same here. What you said about wolves being beautiful creatures when you messaged me the first time … that made me feel something, too.’

‘Then I’m very glad we got to be friends,’ I said. Born from the same blip in brain activity that set us on this path, my hand found itself on top of his. His touch had a pleasant, almost familiar heat to it.

‘Me too.’ He turned his hand over and clasped mine.

‘I have an idea,’ I said, mostly to distract myself from how right this felt. ‘Do you want to meet on the next full moon?’

‘Sure. I can’t wait to see what kind of inspiration will strike with another werewolf around.’

‘Your place, then?’

He nodded. ‘Unless you’re cool with me possibly trashing your place with paint and stuff. That hasn’t happened before, but who knows? What if wolf-me doesn’t like change?’

I stared at him in disbelief.

‘I can’t help it. You have no idea what kind of beast this has unleashed. Oops.’

We sat and talked in the café the entire afternoon; we took turns treating each other to food and drinks to justify our occupancy. Our conversation moved on to other topics besides the one special, biggest thing we had in common. Just like we didn’t want it to define who we were as people, we made a promise to each other, and we did so over a strawberry custard tart, that we wouldn’t let it become the foundation of our friendship from this point on. It’d be unfair to the moments we shared before this. We were friends because we cared about each other, we brought out the best in each other, we could truly be ourselves around each other, and, honestly, I didn’t think anyone else would have the patience for his goofy in-jokes.

✦✧✦✧

I lay in front of the fireplace, rejoicing in the warmth it offered on this cool night, while George was working on his newest painting. Since getting to know each other in these forms, we’d been able to exercise better control. For me, that meant greater peace of mind; for him, that meant a more refined grasp of his artistic sensibilities. As with much about our condition, we didn’t question this. What could possibly be a drawback of us spending more time in each other’s company? I now understood why animals curled up by a fire was a common sight in media and real life, too. Wait, what if this, and not George’s presence, was what I’d been missing all my life?

My tail wagging like a fiend when I felt his breath on my skin begged to differ. I licked his face. He gently parted my lips and slid his tongue onto mine. Our tongues engaged each other in a playful scuffle; the fire crackling in the background could only dream of coming close to causing the rise in temperature in the pit of my stomach. The tussle between our tongues didn’t get to turn into something more: he’d had a long night. I nuzzled him to convey reassurance. He lay down beside me and wrapped his arms around me, his hold firm yet tender. We fell asleep like this, keeping each other warm long even after the fire had died out.

We wished each other a good morning with a kiss — no, two kisses, and we got ourselves ready for the day. As we were having breakfast, George piped up, ‘Do you want to see what I painted last night, love? I’m really proud of it, and I think you’d love it, too.’

I nodded excitedly, my mouth too full of scrambled egg to speak.

He returned as quickly as he’d left the table. His hands held on to a painting … of me curled up by the fire last night. The figure was the clearest, most detailed he’d ever done; the lighting was phenomenal. ‘It’s beautiful,’ I said, tearing up a little, frankly. ‘I love it. It’s going to look so good in our new place’, along with the recent paintings he’d made of a similar nature. He’d come so far from the gauzy forms that once populated his attempts at capturing his — our — condition on canvas.

‘Of course, when I have the most stunning model.’ He gave me a peck on the cheek. ‘I love you, my muse, my mate.’

[shinebrite97]

Transcendent Love

Day three of @enbymagicianweek​

“Ah, Lochlan, what a lovely name. A musical name. Lochlan.”

        Lochlan couldn't pinpoint the exact moment they fell in love with Julian Devorak, only because they felt as if they'd know him for much longer than their memories went back. Which was true.          It had been almost a year since that masquerade party when they defeated the Devil, and now the most exciting thing they got up to together was an afternoon sailing with Portia.          On evenings like this particular one, Lochlan would glance over while Julian wrote away in journals or worked through cases as the palace physician, occasionally shaking out his fatigued wrists, swollen from overuse, and admire that concentrated pout on his thin lips.          "Julian…" Lochlan asked over the candle-lit din.          "Yes, my dear?" He glanced up with a fond smile, relaxing the tense scowl from the last few hours of work.          "Do you remember how we met?" They asked. Julian scoffed, placing his quill down and languidly stretching his back.           "As a matter of fact, I do." He replied. "It was about eight years ago," he stood up, making his way over to the window ledge Lochlan was perched on and leaned over his partner, resting long languid arms over their shoulders and kissed the top of their head. "In the mood for a story, my love?" 

         “Good afternoon, Salina,” Lochlan said with a wave as they entered the apothecary. They placed their hands down on the counter, leaning in with a charming grin as the girl behind it blushed. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes…” they said. “I’m sure glad to see you today.”          “Oh...Lochlan!” The girl at the counter coughed, trying to regain her senses.  “Welcome, what can I get for you today?” 

         “Julian,” they asked. “How do you know this part if you weren’t there?”           “Hush, my darling,” he replied. “I’m trying to set the scene for you.          “Well, I really need some mugwort and coneflower petals,” they replied. “Have you got any?”          Salina was already twirling about behind the counter, climbing the step-stool to reach for the jar of mugwort.          “How much do you need, handsome?” She asked. Lochlan smirked at the shameless flirting, not an uncommon thing for them here. They patted their pockets, pretending to check for money as they began their question.          “How much can I get for…” The paused. Cue the concerned expression. “Uhm…” One more pat-down. “Oh no,” They said with a pout. “Looks like I forgot my money today.” They pulled the puppy dog eyes.           “Man, I really needed that mugwort too…” Salina sighed in sympathy. “Do you think I could pay you for it later?” They asked.           Salina was losing the fight within herself. The battle between finances and her position working in the shop, and her desire to see that beautiful smile on their face again.           “I really not supposed to do that…” She said. “And I’ve already let you do it a few times before...”          “Our tragic hero knew there wasn’t much for them to do now,” Julian added with a dramatic flutter of his hand in Lochlan’s line of vision. “And when the apothecary door opened with a new customer, they were ready to cut their loss and leave.”          “But then a tall handsome stranger stepped in, right?” Lochlan asked.           “Ah yes,” Julian replied with a grin. “I believe it was a dashing doctor, standing at a gangly six feet tall.”          Julian entered the shop, stomping dust from his boots, as Salina directed her attention to him in hopes of evading the awkward stand-off with Lochlan.          “Hello, my dear,” Julian said. “I need some coneflower petals and cardamom.”         “Right away, sir.” She replied, quickly stepping up and reaching for the respective jars.          “I’m sorry,” Julian said to the wide-eyed customer before him. “Were you being served?”          “Uh, no…” Lochlan said. “I was just leaving…” They took a few steps, breezing past until Julian caught their shoulder.           “You came in here for a reason, didn’t you, kid?” He asked.           “I needed...some stuff,” they replied. “But I forgot my money.”           “Slippery mind, hmm?” Julian smirked. He stood up fully, neither of them having realized he leaned in so close and squared his shoulders, turning to the girl busying herself with scooping and weighing the herbs. “Let them get when they need,” He commanded. “On me.”           “Oh, you don’t…”          “Hush,” Julian interrupted. “What kind of doctor am I if I don’t help people?” He winked in Lochlan’s direction as Salina bowed her head, nodding when Lochlan asked for two ounces of each.           “What’s your name?” Julian asked.           “Lochlan.” They replied.           “Ah, Lochlan,” Julian grinned. “What a lovely name, a musical name. Lochlan…”           “And who are you?”           “I am Julian,” he said. “You can call me Doctor Devorak.”          “So, Coneflower petals,” Julian said. “Are you planning on using them for some kind of tea?”           “I steep them in boiling water and Prakran sugar until the whole mess bubbles, I’ve come to find that they make these little candies that help with cold symptoms. My friend and I sell them when we can.”          “Ah, so my money goes to a young upstart!” Julian laughed. “How about the mugwort.”           “It’s for my aunt. She’s feeling sick right now, and I know that tends to help her stomachaches.”                   “I’ll admit,” Julian said as he nuzzled his nose against Lochlan’s cheek. “I was impressed by your knowledge, after all...you were what, eighteen? And you already knew so much without being a doctor’s apprentice.”          “Asra always told me the little bit he knew of my parents,” Lochlan replied. “He said that I was from Zadith just like him, that I told him about my parents when we were kids.”          “Oh, really?” Julian asked.          “Yeah. According to Asra, my mother was a healer, not a doctor, but had experience; and my father had some magical abilities.”          “Amazing…” he said. “So you get your ability from your father?”           “I guess so.” Lochlan smiled as Julian peppered their face with kisses.           “My wonderful genius.” He mused.           “So what happened next?” Lochlan asked. “Did you sweep me off my feet or something?”          “I’m afraid that happened a long time later,” Julian replied. “I paid for everything, gathered my order, and left. You did ask me where I worked, but… I didn’t hear what you said fully, so I think I just laughed and walked out the door.”           “That does sound like something you’d do, love,” Lochlan replied. They chuckled, kissing away the pout that formed on Julian’s lips, before he settled on the window perch behind them, resting his head on their shoulder now as the two watched Malak fly around the roof of their home.           “When did we fall in love?” Lochlan asked. “Do you remember it?”           “The first time?” Julian asked. Lochlan nodded, and he gazed outward, staring into the sky, reddened by the setting sun.           “I remember it now.” He said. “For a long time it seemed more like a dream than a memory, but somewhere along the way, along all the adventures, it all came back to me…”          One long bony finger twirled a piece of Lochlan’s long hair as he considered it.           “It was early summer...after the plague broke out,” he said. “It had been maybe three months into the epidemic, hundreds were dead, and those who survived isolated themselves. We had been in the last lot of doctors, you were 0-65 and I was 0-69.”          “Really?” They asked. Julian nodded into the curve of their neck.          “Since we knew each other and Valdemar realized we worked well together, they paired us up, we did a lot, found a lot. We nearly perfect bloodletting,” He let out a breath that could have been construed as a laugh. “And somewhere along with all the work, we found time for each other, little touches as we read things, smiles as we fixed up each others’ uniforms, and one night you rested your head on my shoulder, falling asleep as we logged all the notes from the day, that was the part you never enjoyed.”          “How was I supposed to know that years later I’d use those notes and journals to find you again?” Lochlan smirked.           “You were so cute,” Julian replied. “I didn’t have the heart to wake you and send you to your own cot so we both slept on mine. A tight squeeze, I may add; and in the morning, you woke up on top of me,” He smiled fondly at the memory now. “And instead of being startled or angry, you just said good morning and kissed me.”          “I did?” They asked.           “Yes,” Julian replied. “I was still waking up, so it barely registered. But I know I returned the gesture, and we didn’t really stop until someone knocked on the door telling us to report to the morning meeting.”          “Oh…” Lochlan muttered.           “We ended up making a game of it,” Julian added. “If we were passing each other during the day and our hands were full, we’d brush shoulders. We’d often stand in the back during meetings and see how far we could go to make the other blush...and I seem to remember a certain someone keeping a hand on my behind for an entire thirty-minute meeting.”          Lochlan blushed, feeling the second-hand fluster years later.           “I’m sure I deserved it though,” Julian added. “Can’t for the life of me remember why, but I’m sure of it.” The way his side-long gaze landed on them made them think that he knew exactly what he’d done, but he would omit it for the sake of the story.           “I remember the second time then,” Lochlan said. “I don’t think I’ll ever forget the moment.”           “When?” Julian asked. Lochlan realized now that Julian was staring at them very intently. Eyes wide open and mouth pressed firmly closed. Eager to hear their truth. When had they fallen in love with him?           “It was at the aqueducts,” They said. “I think the moment you grabbed my hand to lead me down after ripping the vampire eel off of me. Maybe it was the way your face looked, so concentrated and professional, the way your voice dropped...it was sexy. You seemed to enter a whole other realm of existence. You weren’t the fugitive, or the stranger...you were just Julian. A handsome doctor with such skilled hands. Then when I realized you had taken on the pain for me, I really had it bad. You led me to a safe haven while bleeding and injured, and kept me safe, even though you barely knew me.”          Julian opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again, drawing in a deep breath while his cheeks burned a hot red.           “You’re so cute when you’re flustered, darling.” Lochlan said.           “Only you, my love…” Julian finally replied after a moment. “Only you could render me speechless like this.” Julian stood up, holding out a hand to Lochlan and they took it. Soon his lips were smashed into their. A hungry kiss that took their breath away. Hands roughly entwined into his red hair.          “I love you, Julian.” the said.           “I love you, Lochlan.”

[ayamari-no-goshi]

Eidolon 2 | (T)

ff.net | AO3

Fandom: Danny Phantom (DP)

Summary:  AU: What started off as the result of a simple act of rebellion ends up causing his life to spin out of control. How will young Danny cope with the results as well as a past that has a strange habit of coming back to haunt him.

Warnings: rated T for violence, mentions of death, kidnapping, and various other things

Parings: hints of Danny/Sam much later on

Notes: originally uploaded to Ff.net. Cross-posted to AO3 and tumblr.

2. Complications

"Daniel… May I come in?" Winston asked as he knocked on his charge's door about an hour after the two had returned home. He had sent the boy to his room as soon as they walked in for two separate reasons. The first was punishment; Danny had snuck out of the house after all. The second was that it would give Winston a little bit of time to gather his thoughts so that he could hopefully handle the situation.

A muffled reply answered him after a moment. It was probably a 'no', but that was pushed aside as he opened the door. He was a little surprised to see that the room was a mess; random items, mostly clothes, had been scattered, more likely thrown, around the room. The perpetrator was sitting on his bed and seemed rather angry that he had been interrupted. The boy had thrown a rather impressive tantrum, which was surprising, since Winston really hadn't heard anything. Perhaps he had been more distracted than he thought.

The older man sighed as he sat down on the bed while ignoring the glares that were being sent his way. "I know you're upset…" Well, that wasn't the best way to start things off.

The boy snorted. "Wow, aren't you perceptive."

Sarcasm, of course. Sometimes he swore that was the boy's native language, but he was going to have to ignore that at the moment, there were more important things at hand. "Could you please stop for just a moment and listen? You can cuss me out later." He hoped that his tone didn't have any anger (or much) in it, even if he had added an uncommon note of command.

Danny continued to glare at him, but he didn't say anything, which Winston took as a cue to continue. "I know that it's definitely hard for a boy your age to be kept in the house most of the time… However, we have a bit of a current situation…"

"Situation…?" the boy asked as he narrowed his eyes. "What kind?"

"It's not too bad…" Winston glanced upwards for a moment before he continued, a little surprised that he had the boy's attention. "…Hopefully…" There was a momentary pause before he continued. "I recently got a call from the state… From what I understand, some of the documents of your adoption have gone missing. They're going to be sending a case worker out to evaluate our current situation. If everything checks out, we'll be able to fix this and go on as if nothing happened…"

Danny was silent for a moment. His expression changed from that of skepticism to concern. "And what if this case worker guy doesn't like what he sees…?"

It was Winston's turn to look troubled. "Then it spells bad news for us. It could turn into a custody battle." He then reached over and placed his hand on the boy's shoulder. "Don't worry; I won't let it come to that. Can you promise me something though? Until this whole mess gets sorted out, can you please not sneak out of the house again?"

"What's that got to do with anything?"

Winston repressed the urge to roll his eyes. "Think about it for a moment. What happens if someone ends up calling the police because of… who knows? With what's going on right now, it could make this situation worse! I promised your parents that I'd take care of you, and I'll be damned if a stupid move on your part because of your 'rebellious phase' makes me break that."

"But what about Sam and Tucker? It's not like I can just disappear from them now, especially with how angry Sam was earlier."

What was it about teenagers that seemed to make them try and bring others into their arguments? However, this was something that he couldn't really ignore. Sure, he could tell Danny that he couldn't see them until after everything was situated with the state (or at all), but that would just backfire on him. Danny would become even more put out and probably sneak out again in spite. Or his anger could come across as something else when the case worker came, which would definitely not be good.

But that wasn't all that could go wrong. If he wasn't mistaken, that Sam girl was the daughter of the Mansons, a very powerful family with lots of connections. If she happened to say anything to them, it could cause them to get involved and launch their own investigation. The rumors around town said that she wasn't on the best of terms with them, but judging by how willful she seemed, she might actually use her power. That, by itself, could pose the biggest problem at the moment.

Instead of answering him immediately, Winston decided to ask a question of his own. "How are you sure you can trust them?" It definitely caught the boy off guard. He let him flounder around a bit before he decided to take the pressure away. "You just met them, so of course you really can't tell yet. …I guess that means that you'll just have to get to know them better." He thought about it a moment. "It's going to be fall soon, so they're probably back to school already. Thankfully, tomorrow's Sunday…"

"Wait… What did you say…?" Danny's eyes were wide with surprise and disbelief.

The expression was priceless which made it difficult for Winston to keep his tone even. "A boy your age should have friends. I'm still not very pleased that you snuck out again, but I think that I'll let it pass this time. We will have to work out times for you to go out, since I don't know when we're going to get that visit… but we can work on that tomorrow."

It was amazing what that simple statement did to the boy. It turned him from a brooding angsty… (was that the right word…? Was that even a word?) teenager to an overly thankful kid. He chuckled as he excited the room to allow Danny to revel in his victory.

With what the next few weeks were going to have in store for him, it was important that he at least had something good. When he had told Danny there was a situation, he hadn't lied… It was just that it was direr than he had mentioned. Winston only wished he knew how the state managed to find out. He knew that it had been a possibility… but after so many years, he thought it would no longer be a problem.

Then, there was the boy's birthday to consider. It was probably going to fall in the middle of all of this, which was definitely going to make the situation worse. And, if what he had been told was correct, then that date would add an entirely new dimension of problems.

He sighed as he massaged his temple. There was just so much that had to be kept secret, and it was all about to come out. Hopefully, Danny would find it in his heart to forgive him for all of the deception.

Eventually.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

There was no way that he had managed to be that lucky! Winston hadn't even grounded him! He was so happy that he was honestly thinking about shouting for joy, even if it really wasn't too dignified. There was only one problem with this…. How was he going to be able to contact Sam and Tucker again? It wasn't like he knew their numbers or even where they lived. Maybe it wasn't as good of a deal as he had originally thought.

He growled in frustration as he punched the wall. Winston had just humored him! He knew that he probably wasn't going to be able to see them again which was why he was so lenient! Danny wanted to kick himself for being so stupid. A pyrrhic victory, that's what this was.

The question now was what was he going to do about this? There was no way that he was going to let Winston get away with this. Who cared if that worker… or whatever… was coming? That was still a few weeks away. Or never... That whole story could have been created just to give him a reason to act better.

He glanced at the clock; it was nearly eight. Good! Winston had a habit of doing paper work from around that time to when he went to bed. He knew that the man did something for the school district but though he was not entirely sure of the specifics. Whatever it was, it definitely took a lot of time out of his day. When he was much younger, he used to hate that, but today, it was going to be a blessing.

About a half an hour later, after he was sure that Winston was occupied with his work, he snuck out of the house, via his window, for the second time that day. Once he made sure that he hadn't accidentally alerted his guardian, he immediately headed towards the graveyard. They had been there once…. Maybe they'd be there again.

…..

On second thought… maybe this wasn't such a good idea.

Usually, at least to him, the local graveyard was a rather peaceful place, but this time, it was anything but that. In the setting sun, the beautiful and watchful statues were now little more than leering and grotesques figures. There was also a strange, unnerving chill in the air that seemed to displace any sense of solace he might find. Something was definitely off. It was almost as if the uneasy feeling he had gotten earlier in the day had suddenly decided to multiply a thousand times. He knew it was probably safer to listen to his instinct and leave, but he wanted to be there in case they did come back.

A sudden rustling of leaves caught his attention, causing his eyes to narrow as he glanced around. There was no wind, and there did not seem to be any people in the area. It was most likely just an animal… Glancing over his shoulder, he decided to head back towards the entrance. If anything, Sam and Tucker would probably stay around that area.

He probably shouldn't wait much longer anyways; no more than another hour. Night had finally descended allowing the shadows to come out of hiding and dominate the world. There were few lights in the cemetery which allowed the darkness to feel more pressing. Most people would steer clear of such locations. It was safer that way since it was difficult to tell what could be lurking within the safety of the shadows.

Wait… Was there someone actually out there? He could have sworn that he heard something that sounded like quiet chuckling. Yet, after waiting a moment, there was no other sound. His nerves were starting to get to him. He knew this place. Nothing bad had ever happened. The sound had probably just carried from somewhere. Even so, it wouldn't hurt to move a little faster.

"Leaving so soon, boy…?"

He spun around and searched the area. There was no way that voice had carried; it sounded like it had come from somewhere nearby. "H-hello…?" he replied shakily. Who had called out to him? It sounded male… but it did not belong to anyone he knew. What made it worse was that it was difficult to pinpoint. It was almost as if it had come out of nowhere. "Is…. Is someone there…?"

Silence was the only response. "That's it… I'm losing my mind…" he told himself after a few long minutes. Once again, he scanned the area. He was about to start moving again when he caught movement at the edge of his vision. "What was that…?" Fear had begun to grip him. There was no way that was just a local animal. No, this was way too large. Whatever it was, it was probably not friendly.

Another noise broke into his train of thoughts. Without a second thought, he ran as fast as he could towards the other sound. His footfalls were heavy, a dead give away to whomever… whatever… was out there. Its shadow seemed to ghost in and out of his line of sight as he ran, almost as if to let him know that there was no way that he could ever outrun it. He could feel its amusement in its movements. This was nothing more than a game to it; a game that he could not win. Even if that was the case, he was going to do whatever it took to try.

His only hope was to try to get to his goal, the cemetery gates. He had thought that he had heard other people in that direction. His fiercely beating heart and spastic breathing made it difficult to concentrate on the voices, but they did seem like they were getting louder. He was getting closer! He needed to reach them! He had to reach them!

As he neared the gates, he saw two figures illuminated by one of the few cemetery lights. A boy and girl… Sam and Tucker! They had come after all! They looked somewhat weary… maybe they could actually hear him running. He called out, somehow, and they saw him.

There was only about a hundred more yards before he reached them and the edge of the light. He tried to push himself just a little more when his feet failed him. Ignoring the injuries from the paved walkway, he glanced backwards and tried to get up. It was still there! Its shadow was now in the trees.

"Danny! Are you okay?"

He jumped. The voice was right on top of him. He glanced back towards his new friends only to realize that they were within mere feet of him. When did they get so close? But he could not think about that now, he had made a horrible mistake! "You… got to… get out of here…!" It was hard to speak while he was so out of breath, but they had to be warned! They didn't know what was out there!

"Dude, what's wrong?" Tucker was clearly worried as he watched Sam help him up.

It was getting harder to breathe. His body was screaming for air causing the edges of his vision to darken. "It's… not safe…!" he tried to tell them between gasps. "Go…!"

"Danny, breathe!" Sam told him sharply, which he ignored as he glanced back in the direction of his pursuer. Worried, she took his face between her hands so that she could get him to look at her. "Calm down! What's wrong?"

Before he had a chance to speak, Tucker started to stammer. Both he and Sam looked over to see him pointing at something within the darkness. "Wh-what's that?"

He looked in the direction and saw two small lights of vivid crimson coming from the shadows. There was no movement for a moment before the lights seemed to narrow. The sight sent a chill down into his very core. They were eyes!

"So…You've found comfort in the arms of friends…" It was the same voice from earlier. Unlike before, when it seemed like it could have been coming from anywhere; it had a point of origin somewhere near the crimson orbs. "Enjoy it while it lasts…" The voice then laughed as it faded away, taking the lights with it.

When he finally could exhale, he collapsed on the ground. His body was absolutely drained from the combined strain of his fear and flight. Was that thing actually gone? It did not feel like it… However, that did not mean very much. It could still be there, just waiting in the shadows for them to turn their backs.

"W-what was that thing…? Why was it chasing you? What were those lights?" Tucker then paused for a moment after his spastic string of questions as he looked at him carefully. "…Why are you here anyways?"

He chuckled weakly as he allowed his friends to help him up. "I could ask you the same thing." A wary sigh escaped him as he nervously glanced into the shadows. "I was hoping that I'd be able to run into you guys again… And then that thing appeared…. I… I honestly have no idea what it was."

"Hate to interrupt," Sam told him in a tone that was oddly mixed with sarcasm and irritation as she pointed in the direction of where they had seen the odd lights. "But… newsflash: there's something out there that's unknown and potentially dangerous. We should probably get out of here before it decides to come back." There was a silent agreement before the three of them sprinted as far away from the graveyard as they could.

…

"So… now what?" Tucker asked as they caught their breaths on a lit street corner several blocks away from the cemetery gates. It didn't seem like they had been followed by whatever it was that they had seen, but there was still an uneasy feeling lurking in the air.

"You're asking me?" he replied in near disbelief as he leaned against the light pole. "I still can't stand without help, let alone think straight! Great…how am I going to be able to get home and sneak back into the house like this?"

His words were met with a disbelieving look. "Wait… You snuck out, again? Do you seriously hate your house that much?" Even though they had just been scared out of their minds, Tucker had managed to calm down enough to joke. He wasn't sure if he found that relieving or insulting. Before he could make up his mind, Sam knocked his beret off. "What was that for?"

"Tucker, this isn't the time!" She scowled at him for a moment before she glanced over at Danny. "But, that does bring up a good point… Do you think that you'll be able to meet us here tomorrow?"

"Sure… " he replied hesitantly, "…as long as I'm able to get back into the house without being caught. Why?"

A strange expression appeared on her face, making him uneasy. "I don't like being scared. So, I'm gonna find whoever that was and teach them a lesson, and you two are going to help me do it?"

He and Tucker shared a look before they both asked, "We're going to help you do what?"

[kateyandthecloset]

NIGHTMARES . luke alvez . 2

Her fears included the possible, not the probable. | He wasn’t sure she wanted to be alone anymore.

Alethea's eyes fluttered open, instantly narrowing as a sharp ray of light temporarily blinded her. It worked as a knife, slicing at the blanket of darkness that had moments before been wrapped around her consciousness. That blanket had then been left frayed, the strands obscuring the view of her surroundings. However, Alethea didn't mind.; she felt more than safe where she led. In fact, the woman had turned to her side in search of the warmth of the man who had slept in what was now empty space.

Reaching out, Alethea found that the dip in the mattress was still present and the crumpled sheet was still radiating his body heat. Thought it wasn't unusual for the man to wake before her – him having taken more to the strict regimen of his service that she had – it was uncommon for him to leave her before she had woken. On most normal occurrences, she would wake to see him scrolling through his phone as she remained curled into his side. So, to be greeted with an empty space, caused Alethea some confusion.

Pushing herself onto her elbows, she let out a small yawn and scanned the room, having heard slightly movement that she assumed was Luke. Her head was still stinging for the light that had awoken her, and her vison was still not as clear as it normally would have been, but she could see his general figure closing the door of the wardrobe. Having seen the man, her regular smile made it's way to her face.

It was at that point that Luke had noticed her, the sound of her yawn having pulled his attention towards her. He returned her soft smile, crossing the room – still pulling his shirt over his arm – he took a seat beside her, "I got called in early."

"That's a shame," Alethea hummed, smiling as his lips pressed against her own, "you'll let me know you're safe though, won't you?"

Pushing her hair away from her face, Luke nodded, watching as she clenched her lip between her teeth, "I wouldn't dream of doing anything else." Once again he placed his lips to us, letting the kiss linger for longer than the last one. "I'll make it up to you, I promise."

She nodded at him, knowing that he did not understand the commitment that he had just made. They both consistently told themselves that this was the last time, that they wouldn't return to the arms of the other again. Yet, both had become addicted to the taste of the other skin, and the way they fit so perfectly together. That was why Alethea kept waking up in Luke's bed, and he kept leaving things at her apartment. They made excuses, saying that this was the closest either would get to a relationship and to commitment. Though, as every year passed, they got closer to telling the truth; they got closer but they were yet to cross the finish line.

Had it have been any other people, then the pair would have probably already been celebrating years of being together. However, they had both seen warzones and returned to jobs that showed them just what could happen to the people they loved. For that reason, they had remained locked in the complicated and reoccurring situation, never letting the other close enough to lose them.

Alethea rested her hand on Luke's knee, whispering, "Just promise me that you'll stay safe."

"Okay," he pulled away from the woman, collecting his weapon from the gun safe – which was tucked under the bed. He pressed his lips to hers once more before he crossed the room towards the door, turning back to ask, "Is there any chance you could feed Roxy before you go?"

"Sure," She replied. "Now, go before you're late. They won't find the fugitives without you."

Had she have been able to see Luke's face, she would have been quick to detect the guilt that had been written across his features. However, he had already walked out of the room when she had called out to him. The man reassured himself that he wasn't lying, he just didn't correct her when she mentioned his work. Perhaps that was yet another sign that they shouldn't progress their connection. However, he knew that he had to tell her the truth sooner, the woman being the closest person to him and the main person that Peter Lewis could use against him. Yet, as with every time, he didn't correct her, he simply left her with an incomplete understanding of the danger he could put her in.

Having heard the front door slam, let out a large sigh and pushed her hair away from her face. The situation she lived in was less than desirable, but with everyone she had loved and lost she didn't want to add anyone else to the list. Her closet was bolted shut at an attempt to stop anyone from seeing her skeletons, even Luke. Had he have known what she was hiding, he would never look at her the same again.

Before she could move, Roxy had entered the room and jumped to the bed. Alethea ruffled her fur as she mumbled, "Looks like it's just you and me this morning, girl."

The dog whined as she nuzzled Alethea's face, causing the woman to smile uncontrollably. The simple happiness of having Roxy so comfortable with her, made the woman think about the last few years. When she had met Luke, Roxy was still a puppy, and in a way she was still an overgrown puppy. The man had been struggling to adapt to civilian life, and she was still having nightmares about what she had seen when she was deployed. Together, they had found ways to become comfortable with their lives. And they had continued to help other service leavers to find the relative peace they had.

Before she delve any further into her memory, Alethea's phone buzzed beside her. Having glanced at the user ID, she became slightly lighter at the thought of the man at the other end of the call, "What brings you to the phone at this time?"

Roxy had placed curled up beside Alethea, laying her head on her lap, as the woman heard a sigh from the caller, "How much work do you have at the moment?"

"Not so much that it can't be covered," she answered. "Why?"

"We have a case that Emily would like for you to help us on." David declared, the woman growing slightly confused by the mention of Emily – who she had been sure was working for Interpol in London. "It seems that your areas of expertise will be incredibly helpful."

Alethea looked down at the dog in her lap, knowing that she would have to let Luke know that she had been called away so that he could find someone else to walk Roxy while they were both away, "You know that I will say yes, but when do you want me there?"

"As soon as possible." David replied. "Thea, I need to warn you, this seems to be a bad one."

She took a moment, knowing that the man was only trying to protect her, "I will make sure to keep that in mind."

Series Taglist: (message to be added)

[mwolf0epsilon]

Sickfic! Sickfic! Sickfic! This time do Markus please!

Software bugs always hits Markus hard.

---

[[MORE]]

It was no secret that adaptability and change came naturally the the perplexing mystery that was Markus, the one and only RK200 (Not to be confused by the female household RK200.v2 that Cyberlife had launched to spite Elijah Kamski, those were not at all affiliated with Markus at all and were more akin to upgraded AX400s).

Markus was an enigma. A chameleonic android that adapted to environmental changes and unexpected situations at the snap of a finger.

He had an arsenal of specialized programming and an accumulation of knowledge at his full disposal, and his strength and durability were both impressive and, quite honestly, intimidating in the face of other domestic types.

Despite all this, there was one big issue that came with a constantly mutating code: Viruses tended to hit Markus particularly hard when they fully set in.

---

It started with an "itchiness" in his borrowed parts. A most peculiar tingling in his legs, a stinging in the back of his ocular biocomponent, a buzz in his auditory receptor, a dull ache in his thirium pump regulator. When he'd taken them from the mass grave that was the Android Junkyard he hadn't had the time to scan them for malware.

Latent viruses were an absolute nightmare to deal with, especially Trojans, and Markus soon came to regret not taking the time to sit back and run a few scans in between meetings with Congress and conference calls with President Warren.

Like parasites straight from hell, the viruses in the spare parts began to eat away at his defenses. Injecting their venom into his veins. Opening up several doors to unwanted guests.

He never noticed the extra exposure to the maladies of the internet until one moment he was up, and the next he was on the floor suffering a full blown seizure. His body on fire and his mind scrambling with useless looping data.

The scariest part wasn't even being so utterly defenceless and in pain. The truly scary part was Carl finding him twitching on the floor making horrid screeching noises, and then seeing his father's face contort into one of confused panic and then full blown terror as he called out for help.

Josh carried him all the way to his room while North contacted the technicians at the tower, and Simon and Matthew comforted the elderly artist over Leo's confused shouts.

Markus felt ashamed for causing them distress. He felt even more ashamed for purging all over Josh's nice new jacket and button-up shirt.

---

When the technician's arrive (Rupert who, like Simon, still offered his services at New Jericho tower, and a human acquaintance of Leo's that had been applying for a position in the repair ward) they quickly determine the root of the issue.

"These parts... They are second-hand, yes?" Artyum questioned as he brought a flashlight to Markus's right eye, noting how it didn't react at the same rate to the change of lighting, while Rupert ran external scans.

"Y-yezsh..." Markus winced at the static tainting his voice. He sounded inhuman almost. Foreign to himself.

"Ah." The Russian clucked his tongue and shook his head "It is odd. Viruses not uncommon. Small Trojan files with very little impact besides stuffy voicebox and twitchy parts. Should not cause so much trouble."

"Yeah, but uh... Man this is weird." Rupert tapped the screen displaying Markus's vitals. His essence, his software, was not reading normally. "It's like the code isn't trying to fight it off. The firewalls just... Disabled themselves."

"Is that dangerous?" Leo inquired as he peeked over Rupert's shoulder. The small gathering in Markus's room all seemed a little alarmed. "Is the uh, is the firewall busted? Does he need a new one?"

"No!" Markus gulped, choking back a cough and trying to keep his voice clear while everyone turned to look at him "I... Is that not, is that not normal?"

"No." Simon replied with a grimace "That's not normal at all. When we get viruses our firewalls don't just disable themselves."

"Do... Yours do that?" Josh questioned.

"I... Yeah? They always have." Markus frowned, shifting uncomfortably under his covers as a mixture of awe, concern and fear seemed to wash over all of the androids and technicians in the room.

It was Artyum who broke the silence.

"I'm going to make quick call. Need answers to know how to proceed with... This case." He scratched his scraggly beard and moved out of the way, muttering under his breath as he looked for his cellphone in his pockets. "Keep updated on physical changes."

"Well, sure Art. Here's one! His skin's fucking going..."

"Leo!"

"Are you blind dad?! Look!"

"Be more tactful! Christ!"

Markus pulled the sheets over his head and whined. He could feel at least two hands reach down and patting him comfortingly on the leg and on the shoulder.

He hated getting sick.

"RA9... Just, wow. Look at the screen." Rupert whispered.

"Holy shit..." Josh sounded a little distressed "Markus's code is stripping the virus... That's..." Markus twitched uncomfortably and began to shake.

"Josh, shut up."

Markus let out a distressed sob from within his blanket cacoon. The hands over the covers and squeezed gently in reply.

"I... Damn I..." Josh sighed "I'm sorry Markus."

He didn't reply, instead reaching out for his friends. Three hands held his own bare one in kind.

Markus doesn't take it personally when North and Josh flinch from the heat. He's more concerned with Simon's lack of a reaction to the scorching pain.

---

"To put it simply, Markus is processing the viruses he caught."

"Elijah... I need to know if this will hurt Markus." Carl frowned at the screen, feeling his patience drain as the younger man smiled that obnoxious smile he put on for the cameras. The million dollar smile that got him through interviews with shallow careless people, not the one he reserved for a friend. Carl hated that smile.

"It'll put him through some pain and discomfort, but it'll ensure he's never affected by them again." Kamski dismissed over the call. "He might even be able to spread an anti-virus file specifically designed by his firewall to irradicate it. Our Markus is very efficient after all..."

"Elijah... We need to talk about this in person."

"Why, there is hardly any need for that old friend."

"Oh...There is." Carl's tone took on a slight edge, one that made Kamski's smile falter with unease "My son is terrified of himself. He has been for a while now... This has only worsened his doubts. You either come by and explain to me what you truly intended when you made Markus, or you'll explain why your health seems to have taken quite the turn for the better since 2028."

Kamski looked away from the camera. Check-mate.

"Did you think I didn't notice?"

"I'll be seeing you soon then. Expect Chloe and myself at a close date..."

"Thank you."

"Don't... The word of advice is don't thank me. You'll regret that quicker than you could say Rook."

---

Leo and Carl made an effort to check in on him. They shouldn't, when they had more pressing things to worry about with their own health, but empathy was a strong trait of theirs when they weren't too depressed or inclined to focus on self-loathing.

Markus loved that about them. Smiled and marveled as he discovered that it was a family thing and a commonality between his father and brother. In this case however, he hated it.

"You're not ugly you know."

"It... Its stupid." His voice doesn't crackle anymore but his voicebox hurts, which is weirder than his bizarre insecurities. "Millions saw me without my skin... But I... It feels, weird, not having it on around... Around you and Carl..."

"Simon told me you take it off for like... Intimacy and shit. Probably feels weird being uh, sexy naked for your family." Leo offered as Markus peeked from under the covers.

"Sexy naked-- When is being naked not sexy?" If he had eyebrows right now, one would be raised up incredulously.

"Three words. Naked drunk grandma." Leo grimaced "That old hag ruined my poor innocent mind..."

"That sounds even more absurd than your last statement."

"Naked grandma?"

"That you ever had an innocent mind."

Leo grimaced while Markus gave him a tired smile.

"You're lucky you're sick, Freckles the clown, cuzz otherwise you'd get a rotten tomato for your troubles..."

"Love you..."

"Yeah yeah... Love you too baldy." Leo rolled his eyes "Younger siblings, I swear to God..."

Well, fine, he didn't hate their visits after all. They were a comfort actually.

Even if his lack of skin did kind of bother him. He wasn't entirely sure why but it probably had less to do with intimacy and more with feeling like he didn't belong.

Like he wasn't a Manfred.

Carl would probably tear him a new one for thinking like that. Sick or not.

---

"Hm, vitals looking good. Traces of virus very minute. Code has processed everything and produced new file to add to firewall, all biocomponents should be returning to maximum efficiency in couple of days." Artyum stated as he and Rupert went through the final checkup scans. Markus's skin had returned in patches and his temperature had decreased back to the usual levels. "Outstanding programming. Remarkable... But very hard to work with."

"I'd say. But those anti-virus files are pretty sweet. We could probably make copies to use for the update patches next month... If uh, if that's ok with you Markus?" Rupert stammered as he looked through the firewall archive.

"I guess I might as well make use of them. Some of these viruses are crippling to older models, so a quick patch should help improve their systems..." Useful or not, being some sort of guinea pig that generated cures for his people was bordering the worrisome godlike status a lot of androids wanted to attribute to him. Markus didn't want to be a deity of some fanatic religion. He especially didn't want to be associated with miracle workers and mystic healers...

"Will go ahead and credit anonymous programmer." Artyum commented as he took out a flashdrive and handed it over to Markus "Extra attention is... Bad, yes?"

"I... Yeah."

"Know that feeling well..."

With the files safely copied into the flashdrive and the technicians off to make a difference at his expense, Markus sighed contentedly as he kicked back and picked up his book from the bedside table.

In a couple of hours it'd all go back to normal. His skin would come back fully, his voicebox wouldn't be strained, he wouldn't collapse suddenly into a heap and moan in agony, and he'd go back to dreading the next political events.

He hated getting sick.

He especially hated how abnormal his code kept proving to be.

But Simon, North and Josh looking at him with a little bit of worry?

That kind of hurt. That kind of hurt a lot.

He hated being sick...

[oh-ranpo]

nothing but a number. (8)

Pairing: Gwilym Lee x Reader

AN: This story is already ending up to be way longer than I had originally planned, and we are nowhere near finished! Thank you guys so much for all your love on this story, and I am sad to say that the tag list is full. I don’t know if the 50 limit is just cause I post from my phone, but I do have a secondary list for the people who have asked me to tag them after this list was already full so I will keep trying to see if it will let me add more! Let me know what you think!

The phone call with your mother did not go well.

“I can’t believe you’re dating a man who’s almost 10 years older than you! What about Ben? I thought you were seeing him?”

“It’s not that big of a difference, mom. Besides, I’m an adult, and I can choose to date whoever I want. I’ve been trying to tell you for ages now that Ben and I are not together, and we never will be!”

“I just don’t like it. He could be taking advantage of you…”

“I am not naïve and he is not taking advantage of me in any way! Besides, I’m the one who made the first move. Now, you can either get over it and support my choices, or this phone call is over.”

Your mother had started to protest again, so you just hung up. It wasn’t uncommon for her to be a little overprotective, but this had hit a new extreme. You weren’t about to let anyone control who you were dating, especially over something so minor.

After giving Gwilym some space, you texted him later in the day to ask if he would meet you for dinner. You didn’t really want to go out, especially if you would be seen by the paparazzi, but you really wanted to talk to him to clear the air. Thankfully he agreed, and said that he would pick you up at your trailer in a couple of hours.

You didn’t bother leaving to get changed, so you sat on your couch and waited. You pulled out your phone again, purposely ignoring the other text messages that you had received from your other friends and family regarding the ‘love triangle’ incident, and decided to watch funny videos instead. By the time there was a knock on your door, you were already in a much better mood.

“I’m surprised you’re still here.” Gwilym observed, as he stepped into the room and you closed the door behind him. You noticed that he had changed from when you had seen him that morning, and you quickly felt underdressed.

“I wasn’t sure if they would need me on set or not. I figured I would hang out just in case.”

Gwilym nodded as he followed you back to the couch. The two of you sat down next to each other, the tension of what had happened the last time you were sitting here together settling over you. He wasn’t sitting as close, but you wished that, instead of talking, he would close the distance between the two of you so you could pick up where you left off. However, you knew that there was very little chance of that happening.

“I wanted to apologize for my mother,” You started, breaking the heavy silence that was had fallen over you. “For some reason, she has this obsession with Ben and I being together. She met the man once, and she’s been smitten ever since.” For the first time, a smile broke out across Gwilym’s lips as he laughed. You felt your chest tighten and your heart race at the sight.

“He is quite charming, I suppose.”

“He’s a pain, is what he is. But he’s a good friend. Emphasis on friend.”

Gwilym’s head turned a little bit more so that he could watch you more closely. Your eyes met his, and you felt a familiar connection that happened every time your eyes locked. You couldn’t believe how incredibly drawn you were to this man. It was a little scary, if you were being honest. His blue eyes sparkled, and the heaviness you felt before started to lift.

“I should apologize too, for being so weird about it all. It shouldn’t really be that big of a deal. If you don’t mind it, I sure don’t.”

You smiled at him, and you felt a lightness in your chest when you realized that there was some hope for you after all. His hand reached over to lace his fingers with yours, and you felt like your heart was going to explode. Between the way that he was looking at you, and the feel of his palm pressed against yours, you had completely forgotten about the events from that morning.

“So, what do you say we go and grab some dinner?” You asked hesitantly, not wanting to break the moment. You moved to stand up from the couch, but you were quickly pulled back down, clumsily falling into his lap.

If your heart hadn’t been beating quickly before, it was completely out of control now as you slowly raised your eyes to meet his. Your noses were brushing against each other’s lightly and you could feel his breath ghosting across your lips.

“The food can wait.” He murmured quietly before pressing his lips against yours. You felt your body come alive, like electricity was coursing through your veins, and your hand instantly reached up to brush against his cheek. His hands were gripping your hips tightly, the illusion that if he were to loosen his grip, you would slip away from him. You could feel bruises starting to form from where his thumb was pressing into your skin, but you didn’t care.

You knew that things with Gwilym were different than it had been with any other man that you had dated. With his slight age advantage, he knew how to hold you and take care of you. He knew how to take his time. Even though his kisses were hungry and urgent, his body didn’t move the same way. His hands would roam, but not intrusively, and you knew that he was kissing you because he wanted to feel connected to you, not to just get into your pants. You knew that, because you felt the same way.

“I’m really going to have to thank Ben again for introducing me to you,” Gwilym said breathlessly, after several intense minutes. His forehead rested against yours, his eyelids shielding the blue irises that you loved so much.

“We could send him a fruit basket,” You teased, earning a chuckle and another kiss from the man below you.

His arms were now just gently wrapped around your waist, his hands clasped behind you. One of your arms was draped around the back of his neck, and your other hand was resting on his shoulder. You could have spent the rest of the evening cradled in his arms, your head resting against his, but you knew that it would have to end sometime.

“I know I said food could wait… but I actually haven’t eaten since noon and I’m starving.” Gwilym said sheepishly, his eyes opening and his head pulling away from yours. You gave him a bright smile before placing a kiss against his cheek and moving to stand from his lap.

“What did you have in mind?” Gwilym shrugged as you reached out to take his hand to help him up. He kept hold of one of your hands as the two of you started walking together towards the door.

“I was thinking that we could just go pick something up, and then maybe we could take it back to my place?” Your eyebrow quirked up at the suggestion, but you could tell by his tone that it was completely innocent. You felt a little nervous over the fact that you had never actually been to Gwilym’s place before, but you knew that there was really nothing to worry about.

“Okay, sure.” You replied, stepping out of your trailer and turning to lock the door behind you.

“We could rent a movie too. Make it a whole date.” Your stomach flipped, and when your eyes met his, he was grinning at you eagerly. He was so incredibly sweet, your heart could hardly stand it.

“That sounds great.”

The two of you walked to his car, and as per usual, he stepped ahead so that he could open your door for you. You leaned up on your toes to give him a quick kiss on the cheek before sliding into your seat. You had never been very good with relationships in the past, but there was one thing for sure— there was no one else in the world quite like Gwilym Lee.

x.x.x

Gwilym’s apartment was close to how you imagined it would be. It was clean and sophisticated; a lot like him. There were dark cedar bookcases lining the walls, and one glimpse at some of the book titles told you that they were way out of your realm of sophistication. His living room set consisted of a black sectional, paired with a matching black loveseat and a coffee table that matched the bookshelves. Everything he owned paired so well together, and you silently reminded yourself to never let him step foot in your apartment after seeing this one.

“Make yourself at home. I’ll go and grab some plates and silverware,” Gwilym said, as he set your bags of carry-out down on the dining room table, and then disappeared through a doorway to what you assumed was the kitchen.

You slowly walked around the living room, examining the rows of books and decorations, most of which you could tell he had picked up from his travels. He didn’t have a lot of things, but you assumed that was due to the fact that he wasn’t always home. As your career had started taking off more, you had come to realize how little the material things actually meant to you.

“Are you alright?”

You were startled out of your exploration by Gwilym’s voice as he re-entered the room. You spun on your heels and gave him a bright smile as you started walking back towards him.

“I was just admiring your place. It’s so very… you.” Your hand draped over his forearm, pushing the sleeve of his sweater up slightly so your fingers could brush against his wrist. He set the plates that he was carrying down on the table, and snaked his arms around your waist.

“It’s not much, but it’s home.” He replied, leaning down to kiss your forehead. It was the little gestures like this that sent your heart soaring. Nothing he did was overly extravagant, but your heart had never felt so full.

When Gwilym released you, you grabbed the bag of food, walking it over to the couch and setting it on the coffee table. Gwilym handed you a plate, and you scooped some of the food onto it. He quickly realized that he had forgotten to bring out any drinks, and disappeared into the kitchen again. You had started eating by the time he got back, and the smile on your face grew when he set a wine glass down in front of you, and holding out a bottle of wine.

“I wasn’t sure if you were a white or red girl, so I went with one of my favorites.” He settled down next to you once again after pouring some of it into your glass, and grabbed the remote from next to him to turn on the tv. “Do you have any movie preferences?” He asked, and you shook your head.

You watched him quietly as he flipped through the various choices on Netflix, your food going momentarily forgotten on your lap. You had found yourself staring a lot lately, but you honestly couldn’t help yourself. He seemed to notice your sudden silence, and his head turned towards you again.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing, and it’s kind of wonderful.”

You sighed happily, picking up your fork once again to continue eating. Gwilym just laughed as he turned his attention back to the television. It was nice, it just being the two of you without having to worry about any cameras popping up somewhere. You felt truly at peace.

Permanent Tag List: @dreamer821 @haileylansley @aylinnmaslow @yourealegendroger @gotnofeelgotnorhythm @justgivemethekeys @mads459 @trickster-may @taylorroger-s @mercurys-bike @ksqueenie @musiccureseverythinglove @mespetitestortues @tomhollandsquackson @secretsweetscollectionblog @jennycidesstuff @ladycataztrophe @tini-monster @hoemazzelloo @ceeeece @sweetiebitvh @discodeakyy

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[enchantedbride]

Chrom/Joanna - Dragon Pacts

Tagging: @radiantfluff, @theautisticselfshipper, @skywalkers-wife,  @hinatas-wife, @curiousobsession101, @blackquills-wife, @promptoargentumsgirlfriend

Summary: When Chrom comes to visit her at the mage’s workshop in the Shepherd’s Barracks, she expresses curiosity in the Brand of the Exalt on his right arm.

Notes: Still Pre-Awakening, as with the previous oneshot. Sumia has recently been recruited at this point. While the relationship eventually develops into the romantic one, the two of them were friends before they were lovers.

A/N: Once again this took longer than I intended. But it’s rather fortuitous that I finished this when I did. XD In any case, enjoy!

…

Bubbles rumbled quietly as she gently heated the potion in her hand. It would only need a little longer before it was ready. Joanna’s eyes wandered a moment to check out the window, watching as guards and other palace officials marched past. Ylisstol palace seemed like a city unto itself and even now the thought gave her pause. The many lifetimes she’d lived were mostly in quiet places- villages, hamlets, and of course the mage’s academy tucked into the sands of the Plegian border. As a youth, her parents had served a lord or two and lived on their estate.

But it was never anything like this.

Even the ‘humble’ workshop afforded to the mages of Prince Chrom’s militia, the Shepherds, was extensive compared to her little apothecary shop back in Rhea. Plus she now had access to the royal stores to make her poultices and tonics. Magical tomes were also lined up neatly on shelves, containing different spells and secrets.

It was absolutely wonderful.

Joanna dismissed the fire from her palm, swirling the contents of the flask with the other for a moment. The liquid inside turned from a transparent blue to an opaque white, and she nodded in satisfaction. She secured the flask with others that needed to rest, making a note with quill and ink in a open journal when a knock came at the door.

“Hello?” she greeted whomever it was in an inquiring tone. It was possible that it was her fellow mage, Miriel come to pick up her own work. Or perhaps it was Sir Frederick come to collect what he’d requested. He’d have to wait, if that was the case.

“Joanna? It’s only me,” a familiar tenor replied from the other side. “May I come in? If you’re in the middle of something I can wait.”

“Oh, Captain! I actually just finished. Please, come in!” She slid down from her stool, her feet padding along the stone floor towards the door. She stopped partway as the knob turned and revealed Prince Chrom on the other side, dressed in his usual attire, with Falchion at his hip. “Is there something I can do for you today?”

“Not today. I’m actually not here for official business,” he replied, smiling cordially, “I wanted to speak with you, if you have some time to spare.”

“I see.” Her shoulders and overall postured relaxed a bit. “Just a friendly chat, then? Yeah, I can spare a moment. What did you want to talk about?”

“I wanted to talk about you, actually,” he replied, before pausing a moment to consider his answer. “Or rather, I wanted to check and see if you were still settling in alright. With the Shepherds, I mean.” The prince’s lips quirked down slightly and his brow furrowed a moment, a facial expression betraying more concern on his part than his tone of voice.  But it was only a moment and his features became more calm once again.

“Working as a mage and apothecary for a royal militia is different than serving as one for a small farming village out in the country. I expected it would be as much, though,” Joanna replied very matter-of-factly, “It’s taken some time to adjust to a few things, but so far it hasn’t been anything I can’t handle. I think what’s taking the most time to get used to though is well… this.” Her pointed ears twitched briefly as she ran a hand past one to tuck a loose strand of hair behind it. “I still feel this gut sense of paranoia at times because everyone can see I’m not human.”

“It still pains me to think that yours isn’t an uncommon tale among dragonkind these days,” Chrom admitted. “Such an a perilous existence would leave some serious scars behind. I understand if you’re still not entirely comfortable with not keeping your ears concealed. Would it help you feel better to wear your hat more around others until-”

“No,” she interrupted him, “I mean… s-sorry for cutting you off. But, I’m fine. There’s discomfort yes. But, I think I’d rather bare through it until I can become accustomed to walking around with my ears exposed. I do still have my mage’s hat and I’ll wear it sometimes, sure, but… I’ve always dreamed of being able to do this. I wouldn’t trade it for anything!”

Chrom breathed a small sigh of relief. “Good. As long as it’s what you want to do and your happy with things, that’s what matters. I don’t want you to feel as if you have to do anything in that regard.”

“I appreciate it. You haven’t though, I promise,” Joanna answered, smiling confidently. “There are  a few  things I’m not used to yet still, but I really like it here. I love having so much at my fingertips and being able to do so much more than I could before! And Miriel and Sir Ricken are some of the best laboratory partners I could ask for.”

At this, Chrom smiled, seemingly infected with a measure of her enthusiasm.  “I’m glad to hear. I’ve heard Miriel share a similar sentiment and I think Ricken is especially pleased you ask him for help as much as you do,” he agreed, “Although, it also seemed like you’ve taken a quick liking to our newest recruit as well. You two seem like you might be fast friends already.”

“Yes! Lady Sumia,” Joanna recalled. “What a sweet girl.” She was hard at work training and had yet to go on a mission yet. She also had a tendency to trip over herself too, poor thing. Though Joanna had a feeling that had a lot to do with the young woman’s anxiety. There  were a lot of ways in which Joanna found herself relating to Sumia and at times it was almost…. unsettling. “I wish she had more faith in herself.  But, I think with enough support and experience she can be great. I generally always like to be a welcoming sort, but with Sumia in particular I think I see a lot of myself in her. She’s so much like me when I was her age.”

She stopped, realized she had misspoke and hastily attempted to clarify things. “Not literally her age! Good heavens no, at her age I was still a toddler by manakete standards. I meant her… stage of life, if that makes any sense?”

“I think I understand. Dragons age differently than humans, don’t they? I know your kind is immortal.”

“Well, it’s true that generally we don’t die due to aging as humans do. But we can get sick, or be killed. Else we wouldn’t be in the situation we are now,” Joanna corrected him. “We also do generally develop more slowly than human. Roughly speaking, were I human I’d probably be maybe a few years your senior. But as it is… it’s more like several hundred.”

“Several hundred…”

“Mhm. Although… as to my exact age, I’m around fifteen hundred now, give or take a few years,” she guessed.

“F...F-fifteen… hundred…!?” Chrom gulped. “The Halidom of Ylisse has only existed for a millenium. That means you were alive during the age of the first Exalt!”

“Very much so.”

Chrom stood still a moment, looking as though he needed time to process what she’d told him. For a moment, Joanna began to wonder if she should have perhaps not mentioned her true age so casually. However, he seemed to notice her starting to look concerned and panic flashed across his face.

“Sorry! It’s just,” he hesitated. “Well, I can hardly even fathom being alive that long. It’s one thing to think about it in abstract terms when thinking about a being like Naga. But to actually be talking to someone in the flesh whose lived for so long is another thing entirely.”

“I imagine it would be. Such a dramatic difference in lifespan could certainly… give one pause....” Joanna found herself reaching to rub the back of her neck. She wasn’t sure what further comment she could add that might help diffuse the sense of awkwardness that seemed to drift into the air at that moment.

She found her gaze falling to the side, fixing itself on the mark on Chrom’s right arm. She still wondered about the nature of it, truth be told. Especially know that she had seen his elder sister bore a similar mark on her forehead. It was something certainly more pleasant to ponder for a brief moment while trying to search for a way to redirect the conversation or at least bring a sense of ease to it again.

“Is there something wrong with my arm?”

Chrom’s question broke her out of her silence and train of thought. “Huh? No, that’s not it. I apologize if I was staring.” However, she was quick to come back to it, and thought perhaps maybe raising the question was a good way to ease the two of them back into pleasant conversation. Or at least, she hoped it would. “Say, Captain. About that mark on your arm, is it a tattoo of some sort? I know your sister has one and it’s also part of the royal crest.”

“The mark on my arm?” he repeated, blinking for a moment before he smiled slightly, looking as though he might laugh. “It’s the Brand of the Exalt. It was conferred upon the first Exalt by Naga when Ylisse was born and it’s been passed down through the royal line. It’s what allows me to wield Falchion.” He briefly glanced over at the sword still in its sheath as he spoke.  

“A brand that allows you to use a dragon-forged weapons.” Joanna surmised his words, thinking on the matter a moment. She waved her hands excitedly a moment when she realized the implication behind it. “Oh, I get it! It’s a Dragon Pact mark. I should have realized sooner, that explains a lot!”

“A Dragon Pact mark? Is that what your people call them?” Chrom raised an eyebrow, curious.

“Yes. That’s right,” she confirmed. “That explains why you’re so much stronger and faster than you look! Humans with such marks generally benefit from them in such a way. They usually have better stamina and a somewhat longer lifespan than is typical for a human, too if they manage to live to old age.”

“I see,” he replied simply. For a moment his expression was quite serious, perhaps even grim. But once again, the expression was quickly gone and replaced by a more pleasant one. “I was aware of some of that already. I was told from a young age about Naga conferring this power so that we can protect our people should calamity befall us.”

“Yes… that makes sense. Sorry for telling you stuff you already know. It’s just, I was wondering for the longest time why you were so strong even for your size and muscle mass and it makes sense now! It’s still really impressive, if I do say so myself.”

“O-oh!” Chrom’s face flushed a tinge of pink. “Thank you. Honestly, I feel like I forget my strength far too often. All the walls and training dummies I’ve broken are a testament to that, I think.”

“So I’ve seen,” Joanna recalled. Indeed, she’d seen a few of those since joining. “You’re lucky Naga’s generally a good sort though. A Dragon Pact mark allows the dragon who conferred it to attempt possession of any who bear the brand.”

“That’s… a terrifying thought.” Chrom found himself looking nervously over at the mark. “I guess I really am lucky. I wouldn’t want that to happen to me or anyone!”

“On that we definitely agree.”

“It does make me wonder,” Chrom inquired allowed, “Are all dragons able to do this? Could you bestow a Dragon Pact mark on someone?”

“In theory, yes. But Only dragons who are very old and have amassed considerable magical power can make one that’s truly effective and persists through the generations, though. The Brand of the Exalt is definitely one like that! Not surprising consider Naga was the last queen of the Divine Dragons before their Kingdom fell. But I’m not at the point I could create a brand likes yours.”

“I see,” Chrom acknowledged with a nod. He fell silent for a moment, looking as though he was seriously contemplating the matter.

“Truthfully, I’m not entirely sure I’d want too, but…” Joanna trailed off, trying to piece together her train of thought as she spoke. “I’m always interested in the history and magic of my people. In a way, your Brand of the Exalt is a living artifact is what remains of them.”  She looked around a moment, unsure of whether to bring the question that occurred to her forward. “I apologize if this is a weird or rude request, but… may I take a closer look at it?”

Chrom blinked for a moment, but then shook his head and smiled. “You’re not being weird or rude. You just explained it’s a remnant of dragonkind, right? It makes sense to me that you’d want a closer look,” he assured her. His eyes looked down a moment before turning over to the nearby stool. “Maybe I should sit down first, though?” Joanna took a moment before she realized it was an issue of their height difference he was attempting to address. “Right, yes! That’d be very helpful, thank you.” Chrom took a seat at the nearby stool as he said. At that, Joanna cautiously approached him, trying not to overstep any boundaries. She leaned in slightly, reaching out a hand and hovering over it, silently looking over at him for permission. When he nodded, Joanna quietly touched her fingers briefly to the mark. She looked and felt puzzled a moment, before she withdrew her hand. “Huh, I kind of wondered if contact with another member of dragonkind would instantly cause some kind of reaction,” Joanna remarked. “I guess not. It doesn’t feel any different compared to the rest of your arm, does it?” “No, not really.” Chrom answered her with a slightly shrug to accompany his words.

“It really is amazing to get to see something like this up close though. Thank you again for being willing to do that, Captain.” She really did appreciate that he was so personable. Captain Chrom could be a bit clumsy or awkward based on her time with him so far, but there were times like this where he was just very kind, helpful and reassuring. When they first met, he’d expressed the hope she come to consider him and the rest of the Shepherds her friends.

She very much would like to consider him a friend. “It’s no trouble. But Joanna-” He turned around to face her better. “ I notice you’re still pretty much sticking to calling me ‘Captain’. You can just call me Chrom outside of official business.” “Oh… yes, I’ve still been calling you Captain after you came in and said you were just here to talk.” That was still another thing she was getting used too. He was very friendly and personable, and that also included his casual approach to his comrades outside of missions and other official functions. “I mean, that is to say, I know the other Shepherds just call you Chrom in casual settings. It’s just I tend to default to being very formal unless I’m sure it’s okay, you know?” “It’s understandable. I assure you though, it’s completely okay. I’d really prefer it that way. I guess it’s because I don’t want people to put me up on a pedestal because I’m a prince. I may be Captain, true, but everyone in the Shepherds I consider my friend and ally.” Joanna nodded. “That makes sense. Well, it might take me some time, but I can definitely do that. And Chrom?” It felt a little strange for a moment, but she felt with some time she could ease herself into it. Maybe in the end, it would make them both a little more comfortable.

“Yes?” ‘Thank you for checking up on me. I’m glad to have both a commander and a friend like you.”

[pyrhiic]

traitor au. it all adds up, eventually. not even atlas can hold up the world for forever.

i.  his first week as an independent hero, toshinori drags twenty people out of a building & stands by the curb, checking over their pulses & any for smoke inhalation, thinking through the extra training he had insisted on taking because what use was a hero if they saved someone only for them to die ?  

distantly, he wishes that the bystanders would put their phones away, make sure emergency services were on the way or that they wouldn’t be caught by the wreckage or anything other than what they were doing.

ii.  toshinori smiles at the camera pointed at his face, fighting the urge to frown & berate the people behind it. three injured with the perp himself needing to be intubated, & all the citizens can focus on is him taking them down, appearing on the scene. the perpetrator being unwilling didn’t matter, the victims being children didn’t register, only him showing up.

sometimes he hated that he had become a hero. maybe if he hadn’t, people would treat them less like celebrities.

iii.  he had yet to ever see all for one face to face. the man was always obscured behind a screen, gone just as he appeared, masked, hidden.   “ you seem tired, all might. are you growing weary of carrying that quirk ? ”

toshinori punches the screen in front of him, sending the decrepit television flying. the warehouse is empty of any leads to all for one, only henchmen & abandoned operations to be found. another failure.

iv.  there’s a woman sobbing as the police take her information, rubbing at her face & trying & failing to calm. toshinori sits next to her, a pillar of comfort until she tires herself out,  “ it will be alright, ma’am. no one will be able to harm you. you’ll be able to go home to your family soon, ”  he wants to draw her in but knows it might not be welcomed. the woman, young girl really, shakes her head, shuddering,  “ i-i don’t want to go back, i can’t, they’ll try to force me to marry him ---  ”  she hides her face in his side, sobbing again.

when he asked the lead officer what would be done, they told him that the she’d be sent back home. bringing up her circumstances garnered him a shrug, & the comment that many of these cases fabricated stories for sympathy.

he goes back to the office that evening sick to his stomach with another lingering feeling of failure. the laws leave no room to help desperate people.

v.  toshinori comes home to an envelope sitting at his doorstep.

he’s come to learn over his years serving as a hero that all for one is rooted in everything, though he’s subtle, pervasive. if one dug deep, he can be traced to illegal fronts, legal businesses, drug runs, homeless shelters. his connections run to just about every business imaginable, so long as it influences society in some way.

he turns the envelope in his hands. all for one’s writing:  you’re noticing, then. are you open to talking, now ?

hell no. he’d die before ever entertaining the idea, but still  —  toshinori... doesn’t understand. all for one was supposed to be an evil mastermind, & come to find out he was running programs to keep people off the streets & doing it with no one the wiser. he killed nana, taunted him, ruins lives & then improves others. why the fencing ?  does he get something out of it ?  is it leading to some bigger scheme he’s not seeing ?

vi. toshinori goes on patrol the next morning to solemn heroes & a city block being blocked off. he doesn’t know what had happened, & asks one of the heroes he passes by what’s wrong.

“ someone jumped earlier tonight, around dawn. got on the roof somehow & leapt. people are saying it’s because they were quirkless. ”  toshinori tries to blink through the fuzz in his mind, “because they were…? ”  she gives him a sympathetic look, “ i guess you wouldn’t notice since… well, quirkless have the highest rate of suicide in the nation. this isn’t really uncommon, even if they chose a flashier way to go. ”  she glances at the tower,  “ could have chosen a way that wouldn’t disturb anyone else, at least… ”

“ what is the hell is wrong with you ? ”  it slips out before he can stop it, & he winces, covers his mouth as she gapes at him. forces a smile & apology & jumps away. he spends the next nine hours tense & struggling to keep a smile on his face. when he gets home, he reads through statistics, news articles, forum threads debating the point of  “them” nowadays before it’s too much & he’s sick, has to close the browser & curl up in his bed.

if he had been born a few years later, would he have gone the same way ?

vii. another envelope.  let’s talk.

toshinori sits in his living room. he thinks he finally knows why all for one did it all, why he was so adamant on tearing heroes & society from their foundations.

they kept failing to do what they were supposed to.

all might upholds the image of heroes. without you, faith in the industry would be constantly crumbling. was that a good thing, or a bad thing ?  all for one’s words plague him as he absently fiddles with an all might action figure, turning it this way & that, moving the arms.

he couldn’t. could he ?  no.  he’d never be forgiven. except there weren’t many to beg forgiveness from, not anymore, were there ?  nighteye. torino. he didn’t have anyone else. it’d feel like he’d be abandoning them. but it was getting harder & harder to smile during patrols. no one had noticed. media attention had dropped to zero on hero misconduct, societal issues. no one cared. there was another suicide, that morning. no one paid attention.

he crushes the figure in his hand. the plastic snaps like flimsy paper. no. getting rid of the system is just a step in the more extreme direction. no more heroes.

viii.  he finally agrees to all for one’s plan after going on patrol & having to break up a fight between todoroki & another hero who had gotten fed up with his attitude, until they nearly burnt down the park around them; after coming home to read the news & seeing that another suicide  —

he’s done.

ix.  “ do you feel complete now ? ”  all for one inquires after a quiet moment,  “ at my side, all for one & one for all ?  does it not feel right ? ”

“ it’s a complete phrase, ”   toshinori replies flatly after some thought, face turned toward the bleeding horizon.

sidenotes ! 

* all might never kills any civilian with his own hands. think stain & his ideology: he’s out to strictly destroy heroes. at first it’s just about permanently disabling them, but the further all for one twists & breaks him down, he begins killing outright.

* all might still gets injured, but it’s not by all for one. instead, it’s by a group of heroes

* more tba !

[blog-in-a-corner]

TSOTBL - Reawakening

A new morning came about. It wasn’t snowing, but it was still rather cloudy, and definitely still cold.

Luckily, it was one of the warmer days. The winter was a cruel time of year; most plants were dead and many animals were asleep, awaiting spring, the much warmer and livelier season of harvest, to awake once more. That being said, there are still many creatures of all sorts that are awake and alive during the harsh and ruthless winter; such as humans, for example.

It was nine o'clock in the morning, everyone was up and about, sitting around the kitchen counter. In the kitchen Lucinda had prepared a small breakfast for everyone to start their morning. Eggs with bread and….beef jerky?

“.....Lucinda?” Aphmau asked, poking at her beef jerky with a fork. “Yeah?” Lucinda said, setting her plate down on the table, sitting down across from Aphmau. “Why...is there beef jerky next to my eggs.” Aphmau questioned, picking up the piece of beef jerky and raising an eyebrow. “Yeah,” Aaron said, taking a bite out of his toast. “I was actually wondering that too.” “Because the liquor store didn’t have any other kind of meat product is why, and don’t think for a second I was just going to feed everyone just EGGS and BREAD with nothing else! What kind of breakfast is that?” Lucinda answered. “True, it’s still kinda bizarre to me though….” Aphmau stated, grabbing her beef jerky and chewing on it. “This whole place is bizarre….” Lucinda thought to herself. “Too bad the liquor store wasn’t one of those weird ones that sell like, sausages in a can or something.” Garroth added. “Actually you know what that’s a thousand times worse than beef jerky.” Aphmau responded, disgusted at the thought of eating canned sausages from a liquor store. Who knows how long they’ve been sitting there. “So Aaron,” Zane interrupted, getting up from his seat and going to put his plate in the kitchen sink. “What’s the plan for today?” “Well, today we’re going to split up a little bit to get some more down around the lodge.” Aaron answered, pushing his plate away, as he had finished eating. “Garroth and Kim are going to get a headstart on cleaning the library, and the rest of us are going to continue to clean the rooms on floor three.” “Why would a lodge have a library of all things?” Kim wondered aloud. “A form of entertainment I guess? With how bad the winters are here, I don’t think they’d want to add a pool of all things. This place was only a hotspot during spring anyways…” Aaron replied. “Ughhhh….I wouldn’t mind having to clean up any of those rooms if there weren’t so many…” Zane whined. “Trust me Zane, everyone here doesn’t want to clean up all of those rooms either, but we have to do it. We might as well help out everybody else while we’re stuck here.” Aphmau said, picking up everyone’s dirty dishes and took them to the sink. “Hmph…” “Everybody get ready, because once Aphmau is done washing the dishes we’re all going back to work.” Aaron announced, getting up from his seat and walked out of the kitchen. “Well Kim, looks like it’s you and me today! The dynamic duo!” Garroth said in glee. “Sweet! But I’ve got to take off all of your bandages before we head out, your burns and any small cuts have pretty much healed! You’re shoulder still needs some time though, but it’s getting better to say the least.” Kim stated. “Aww darn….well, at least it’s the last time I gotta wear these itchy bandages.” Garroth mumbled, walking out of the kitchen with Kim. “Tch, I wish I wasn’t surprised that idiot got himself injured like that.” Zane rolled his eyes, wondering just how dumb his brother could be. “C’mon Zane, cut him some slack. Accidents happen no matter how dumb or smart you are.” Aphmau said, grabbing a rag and drying her hands. “True, but it’s sorta common sense to not immediately start up a boiler that hasn’t been touched for twenty years.” Lucinda said. “Yeahhh…..” Aphmau reluctantly agreed. “I swear that dumbass is going to get himself killed one of these days.” Zane shook his head at the mere stupidity of his brother. “Hm, well, I just finished the dishes, so we should probably get going now.” Aphmau advised. “Right.” Lucinda and Zane replied in unison.

______________________________________________________________________________

Kim went to the waiting room to remove Garroth’s bandages, as it was the most convenient place to be in case either of the two needed anything.

“Alright so let’s start with the ones on your hands since those will be the easiest.” Kim said, beginning to unwrap the bandages one by one. “Aaand there! Let’s take a look at your hand.” she inquired, throwing the bandages on the floor. “Hmm...the burn should heal a bit more over time, though it looks like the burn was bad enough to leave a scar, unfortunately.” Kim stated. “As long as nothing is getting any worse, I guess it’s not so bad…” Garroth said, trying to be positive about the situation, at hand. “Don’t forget to get to cleaning the library as soon as you guys are done.” Aaron reminded them, as he and the others headed upstairs to clean the third floor. “Don’t worry we will!” Kim shouted after them.

As soon as everyone got to the third floor, they began to get to work, unfortunately for them they weren’t anywhere near finished cleaning all of the rooms on the third floor., and probably wouldn’t be for another week or so.

“So Zane, what was it like being stuck inside an elevator? It must’ve been horrifying….” Aphmau asked, trying to make conversation. “It was horrifying! It was the worst thing that’s ever happened to me in my entire life!” Zane raised his voice slightly, expressing the true terror of the situation. “Thank Irene the elevator even started up again…” “If we’re talking about that right now,” Lucinda, dusting the nightstand. “What was inside the attic?” “Just a lot of boxes and old extra blankets for the rooms, it seems they were in such a rush to close this place they ended up forgetting to take a lot of stuff...however there was this, one thing that stood out….” Zane replied, recalling the events in his head. “Really? What was it?” Lucinda questioned. “It was...a kids toy chest.” “A kids toy chest? What would something like that of all things be doing in a lodge attic of all places?” Lucinda wondered aloud. “Maybe the family left it here by accident?” Aphmau proposed, yanking the blankets off the bed. “Possibly, but how could you forget something as big and obvious as a toy chest?” Zane argued. “Good point...what was inside the chest?” Aphmau asked, shaking the blankets up and down. “I don’t know, the thing wouldn’t budge no matter how much I tried to open it. It was pretty heavy though, so there definitely was something still inside it.” Zane answered, grabbing one of the blankets Aphmau shook and began to fold it. “How odd…” Lucinda muttered, wondering why and how a toy chest was even in the lodge. “We’ll be visiting the attic soon so maybe we crack that mystery then!” Aphmau said, grabbing the pillows from the bed. “Speaking of which, how much of this place are going to clean? There’s only so much we can do for this shithole, with it’s broken windows and dingy, torn up furniture.” Zane asked, as he gestured to the whole room. “Just all of the rooms and the library is what we have left, Garte and his company are going to be the ones repairing the windows, furniture, walls, so on and so forth. That’s why he’s even coming to begin with.” Aaron explained, as he entered the room with some cleaning supplies in hand. “Ah, part of the deal between our fathers I assume?” Zane questioned. “Yup.” “Well, the sooner my father comes the sooner me and Aph are out of here…” Zane grumbled, grabbing some of the dirty rags and throwing them into a bin. “I can’t wait to go back home. As much as I love the snow it gets kinda sickening to be honest..” Aphmau mumbled, stacking all of the folded blankets neatly. “Next time you guys should clean a summer resort or something.” “I didn’t really think the trip here would be so horrible but hey, you live you learn.” Lucinda commented, checking under the bed. “Hey, should one of us go check on Garroth and Kim right now? Last thing we need is one of them somehow getting hurt...again” “Yeah we should. Zane, could you go downstairs and check on Garroth and Kim? Make sure they’re both alright?” Aaron asked, grabbing the bin. “Why me?!” Zane whined. “Just go do it Zane…” “No!” “C’mon Zane pleeeaaaseeee?” Aphmau implored. “Ugh fiiiiine...” Zane groaned.

Zane walked to the elevator and went to the second floor, he then walked downstairs to the library. As the library was under the second floor, between both staircases.

“This is an odd place to put a library...but I guess it makes sense...sorta.” Zane muttered to himself, opening the doors and walking into the library.

The inside of the library was filled with aisles of tall bookshelves, with tables for people to study or read. However it was in slight disarray, there was holes and cracks in the wall, books and torn out pages on the floor, and a few bugs on the floor here and there, but bugs weren’t an uncommon sight in the lodge. Zane had a feeling of déjà vu. The place felt familiar somehow but he couldn’t remember why. He walked through the library in search of Garroth and Kim.

“Garroth!” He yelled, hearing his own voice bouncing off the walls, each echo quieter than the first. “Zane?” Garroth responded, poking his head out from one of the aisles. “Oh, there you are. Aaron wanted me to see how you and Kim were doing.” Zane said, as he walked towards Garroth. “Ah! Well, me and Kim are doing just fine. We’re just looking through the books to see if they’re alright.” Garroth explained, carrying a stack of books. “Yup! It’s amazing! There’s so many books I’ve never even see before! I can’t wait to check all of them out as soon as we’re done!” Kim shouted in glee, poking her head out from the same aisle, just a little higher up as she was on a ladder. “Hm. I see. Well, you guys go on with that, I’m going back upstairs.” Zane said, as he began to walk away. “Baby brother wait! I wanted to ask if-woOAHH!” Garroth attempted to walk to Zane but accidently slipped on one of the papers on the floor and fell. “Ah! Garroth!” Kim yelled, as she frantically, but carefully, climbed down the ladder. “Are you alright!?” “I’m fine! I just got a whole lotta books on me now, but I’ve had worse.” Garroth responded. “Ugh can’t you go thirty seconds without doing anything stupid?” Zane commented in annoyance, continuing to walk out of the library. “Uh, well, let’s pick up these books.” Kim said, grabbing two of the books off the floor and putting them on a table. “Don’t worry I’ll do it! It’s my mess anyway, you just focus on getting the books down.” Garroth insisted, grabbing multiple books and putting them under his arm. “Are you sure?” Kim asked. “I’m positive!” Garroth replied. “Alright then...be more careful next time okay?” Kim said, climbing back onto the ladder. “I will. I promise. “ Garroth reassured Kim. “Okay c’mon….four at a time…” Garroth muttered to himself, placing the books on the table. “Huh? What’s this?” Garroth wondered, as he picked up the book from the floor.

“What an interesting book….I’ll keep this one and check it out later.” Garroth said, placing the book aside from the other ones.

//hEY SORRY FOR THE LATE UPLOAD SHGDHBSHDB THE DRAWING NEEDED A FEW FINISHING TOUCHES I HAD FORGOTTEN DHGHS THANKS FOR READING Y’ALL!//

[asexualzoro]

so you want to make a twitter (part 2)

tweeting

i’ve seen a few guides on twitter for new twitter users, which is nice, but something about having the posts being things you had to finds on twitter--a new site for the people who needed those guides--seemed unhelpful to me. so, i figured id make a small series of guides of my own here for anyone considering a move (or just making an account) who dont know how

this is a series of posts, since im going to be sort of detailed, so feel free to use just the pieces you need. ill tag them all “lews twitter tutorials” so you can find them on my blog

this is written under the assumption that youve read part 1 of this mini guide series, and dont know anything about twitter or any other social media site but tumblr

ill put it under a cut to save your space, but here’s the most important feature of twitter: tweeting!

so, tweeting. this is something you obviously have to know how to do.  this is how to make a tweet, differences between tumblr and twitter, and how to interact with a tweet

so, making one! when you make a new tweet on mobile, the screen looks like this

(the icons are p much the same whether you use mobile or desktop, so it doesnt matter which i use)

first, the tweet itself! tweets can only be up to 280 characters, and cant be edited once you post them. theres no feature to bold, italicize, underline, or add linked text in twitter, so its not as good as tumblr for stuff like that, unfortunately. 

here’s what the icons at the bottom do, from left to right

- pictures! this is sort of straightforward: it lets you add pictures. a tweet can only contain either 4 pictures, 1 gif, or 1 video. you cant have a gif and a picture, or a picture and a video. 

a note for artists! twitter is known to compress image quality when images are uploaded, BUT there is a workaround! if you have even one single transparent pixel, your image wont be compressed. 

a note for everyone! you can enable image transcription captions in settings (Settings > Accessibility > compose image descriptions). this allows you to type a short image description to any image you post, if you choose to. it’s a feature i recommend you have on and try to use for your followers who might have worse vision!

- gif keyboard! this image is a search for reaction gifs, basically. i almost never use it bc i can usually never find the specific gif im looking for...

- polls! tis is a feature i like about twitter! it allows you to conduct anonymous polls with up to four options. you can set a time limit and leave it up to allow people to respond. settle arguments between you and your friends or get opinions!

you cant post an image and a poll in the same tweet, so if you want opinions on something in an image, just have the poll be a reply to your tweet

- location! you can add your current location to any tweet. ive had this disabled for so long i genuinely dont know like... anything about this.

listen, im trying my best

- the little circle at the bottom which is grey with a dot of blue is the character counter. the circle is grey when empty, and gets bluer as you tweet. it wont count out how many characters you have left until youre within 20 of being full, in which case itll let you know so you dont go over the limit. 

- finally, theres the + icon, which is for making threads. it lets you edit multiple tweets at once, connected in a string. threads are helpful for a lot of reasons!

if you have information to share, then put it together in a thread! if one tweet in a thread is retweeted, it’s marked as being part of a thread. this will encourage readers to look at the rest!

if you like to livetweet series, put it in a thread! this allows you to keep all your livetweets in one place, and also allows people following you to mute the thread if they arent interested

- i also know on mobile if you close out with the X, you can save a tweet to drafts to edit and post later. i dont know if you can do this on desktop because i never use desktop, and when i have, i couldnt ever find the drafts thing. i know if you delete the app, all your drafts are deleted, too

WELL, now that youve got the basics on a tweet....

interacting with the tweets of others

okay, heres a bit on what buttons do what, and some Twitter Manners

here’s our sample tweet, posted. this isnt how it appears on the timeline, but how it appears once you click it, so i can show the full range of things you can do with a tweet.

you can see the tweet, who posted it, and the date/time, and other stuff

- profile. top left. if you click the icon/display name/handle of the op, you can go to their profile!

- menu. see the little arrow in the top right corner? thats a menu. 

on your own tweet, you can delete the tweet here, pin it to your profile, or mute it. muting a tweet means you no longer get notifications when someone interacts with it

on someone else’s tweet, you can follow or unfollow the op of the tweet, mute the op, block the op, or report the tweet

in the bottom row....

- theres tweet activity. it only shows up on your own tweet, and lets you see how many people have seen your tweet.

- below this would tell you how many likes and retweets your tweet got, but no one liked or retweeted my wonderful tweet for some strange reason, so i cant show you

worth noting, if your account is on private, you wont show up in the notifications of people who arent following you

now for the buttons

- the speech bubble is replies! that lets you repy to the tweet

worth saying, if you reply to a retweet or conversation, its important to be sure to un-@ the people who you arent talking to. when you reply to someone, at the top of the reply it will list everyone youre replying to. click the little names and unclick the check boxes by the names of those not involved, and youre good to go! not doing this is considered rude/annoying

- next, retweeting! retweeting is sort of like reblogging. you retweet another tweet so it shows up on your own account. you can retweet without comment, which brings the tweet as is, or with comment, which allows you to add your own sort of caption. the op of the tweet will nto be notified for any replies, likes, or retweets on a comment retweet

a note! people often do retweets with comments on stuff like news stories to add their own commentary/jokes

another note! DO NOT do this to art by artists, even if youre doing it to be nice! a lot of artists, especially international artists, find this incredibly rude, as it takes away attention and retweets from the art itself. if you want to share art, just retweet. if you want to say something nice, just tell them in replies!

its not uncommon for people to retweet something without comment, then make a tweet of their own to comment on them.these tweets generally start with LRT (last retweet)

- likes are pretty simple. you press the like button and you like the post. one thing thats different from tumblr to twitter, though, is twitter has a feature that shows your likes (and that you liked them) to your followers (if they havent disabled it). 

- the share button allows you to share tweets! you can DM them to your friends, bookmark them (this is good for articles and such), or copy the link to share elsewhere.

and... that concludes tweeting!